Iron Will
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Pre-Series. Sam and Dean are sent on a mistaken hunt by their father only to find out that evil isn't reserved for the Supernatural.
1. Chapter 1

Iron Will

Beta: Tidia

A/N: A/N: This story is a birthday fic for one of my very best friends. The request was for a Sam and Dean centric story with extra Dean hurt (She is one of those crazy Dean girls after all so I went a little overboard on purpose). There is an injury in every chapter. And if I could somehow mirror The Big Valley Episode, Iron Box? Then all the better. If you haven't seen it, it is classic brotherly love. Sigh. The Big Valley thingy was a reach considering it took place in the 1800's in a prison camp, but what the hell, I gave it a shot. I've owed her this for quite some time so screw the plot although Tidia gave me credit for trying to insert as much relevance to present day as possible. This is a pre-series story, taking place when Dean is nineteen and Sam fifteen. I hope it comes close to meeting my friend's expectations and that maybe you all will enjoy it, too! Also, The Brotherhood AU got an early renewal notice too. (Someone was very kind to inquire about us). That is if we make it through our season four finale which we have already outlined. We're just waiting on Kripke to fill in some of the blanks.

**RCJ**

"_There are only two forces in the world, the sword and the spirit. In the long run the sword will always be conquered by the spirit."-Napoleon Bonaparte_

Caleb opened the passenger door to his father's rented sedan, slamming it behind him. It was childish, as was the silent treatment he'd given Mac during the flight from Manhattan to California, but Caleb felt justified. If his father insisted on treating him like a kid, he had no problem following through. He banged on the door, glaring at John Winchester when the man gestured him in. In Caleb's mind, Mackland wasn't alone in his betrayal.

"You should have called me." Caleb tossed his bag on the first bed. "Preferably before you lost the boys."

John looked to Mackland, who entered the room and closed the door. "I explained to Caleb why you didn't contact him for the research."

"I can handle a hunt on my own, junior." John folded his arms over his chest. "I believe _I_ taught _you_ the game."

"You know I'm the go to man when it comes to this cult shit. _I_ was the prime choice for information." Caleb ran a hand through his hair, trying to control his worry-fueled rampage. "Shit. You're always saying 'go to the closest source, Junior'. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Sometimes a source can be too close, Son," Mackland said. "You don't always see these situations clearly."

"Don't start with that again." Caleb had listened to his father's rationale. In Mackland's opinion, Caleb was far too intense when it came to cults with possible demonic ties and he had taken steps to dissuade Caleb's involvement. "You make me sound like one of your obsessed paranoid patients or are you afraid of what I might find out?"

"I was trying to protect you." Mackland took a step towards his son. "After the last incident…"

"I don't need protection," Caleb cut him off, in no need of rehashing the mistakes he'd made concerning the last cult he'd infiltrated, the lines he'd crossed. "And this isn't about me. It's about Dean and Sam." He turned on his mentor. "I could have handled the job. What the hell were you thinking sending them in there?"

"You weren't the right age. These bastards prey on kids."

"And now they have _your_ kids."

"We didn't come here to argue or point fingers." Mackland sighed, looking to John. "Have you gained any more information since we last spoke?"

John ran a hand over his beard. "No. I went back to that damn shelter, The Armor of God as soon as Dean missed his check-in. I showed the woman who runs the place a picture. She gave me an innocent act, claiming she'd never seen Dean or Sam, would have remembered someone as young as Sammy. But the first night Dean called me he said they had stayed the night at the place and that Sister Sarah had taken the bait. She was going to help them get a plan together."

"So, she's part of the group," Caleb said. "It's typical to have a go between, someone to lure potential members in. We'll go down there and if she's still singing the same tune I can take the information from her."

"That'd be a great plan, Junior, but when I went back this morning with more or less the same idea there wasn't a trace of the damn shelter. It was just like any of the other abandoned warehouses. We knew it was temporary, a collection spot of sorts, but I sure as hell didn't expect them to vanish into thin air, or be so good at erasing evidence of where they had gone." "I take it Dean hasn't made any of his other check- ins?" Mackland said.

"I didn't hear from him this morning." John rubbed his blood-shot eyes. "He would have found a way to call me if he could."

Some of Caleb's anger gave way under John's guilt and concern. "If Dad can get me in close vicinity, then I should be able to sense them." It wouldn't be easy considering the size of the area but his telepathic connection was strongest with the boys. Caleb wasn't sure if it had something to do with their future placement as The Triad or the years he'd spent keeping psychic tabs on them.

John met his gaze. "Can you get a reading on them now? Anything?"

"I know they're alive." He clung to that certainty. "Their presence is as strong as ever."

"No visions?"

Caleb shook his head. "Not even a nightmare." Considering death visions were his forte, no psychic warning was a good thing.

"That's what I was hoping you would say," John said. "Maybe the situation isn't as bad as we thought. Sam and Dean can hold their own in most situations."

Mackland stepped forward. "This cult you were tracking, does it have a name?"

"Yeah." John went to the desk, picking up some of his notes. "Descendants of Anici."

Caleb intercepted the paper, studying his mentor's cryptic writing as John continued. "Two boys disappeared out of Orange County, weeks apart. One from a foster home, another from a group house for juvenile offenders."

"This name is familiar," Caleb interrupted. He searched his memory for the significance. "Fuck. That can't be right." He looked up at John. "Are you sure? You did the research?"

"I'm pretty sure I got the right name, Kid. I interviewed a witness, another kid in the foster home from where the first boy disappeared. He said his buddy was all chatty with this group called the DOA before he up and vanished."

"Charming acronym," Mackland said.

John grimaced. "I thought so."

"Goddamnit, Johnny." Caleb thrust the paper towards his mentor. "This isn't a fucking cult."

"What do you mean it's not a cult? Like I said I did the research. The Descendants of Anici have been around for about a decade and display all the outward characteristics."

"They do a damn good impersonation, but the only thing they might be into worshiping or conjuring is the ghost of Che Guevara."

"What?" John frowned. "You telling me the Anici are some kind of militia?"

"Not the kind you're used to. They sure as hell wouldn't offer to sell us any weapons, or invite us to an enlightening rally about their cause."

"They're militia militants?" Mackland said. "Isn't that a pleonasm?"

"More like opportunists." Caleb recalled catching wind of them a few years back when he was working another angle with some diehard Satanists. His contact with the Army of the Armageddon had taken offense when Caleb had asked about the other group in question. "The name grabbed my attention, so I did a little digging."

"Why did the name stand out?" Mackland asked.

"Anici." Caleb raised a brow. "It's from one of Pastor Jim's stories." He looked at John. "I'm surprised the runt didn't pick up on it."

"Sam dug up some kind of shit on Saint George. I thought he was bird walking." John growled. "It had nothing to do with the disappearance of the teens or the damn demon I thought they might be calling up for sacrifice."

"I still don't understand the connection," Mac said.

"Saint George, slayer of dragons, is also the patron saint of soldiers. He was supposedly descended from the Anici, which means 'those who cannot be defeated'."

"Dragons. Of course." Mackland ran a finger over his eyebrow. "That makes perfect sense."

"You can blame Jim for that little obsession. Maybe you should have been more vigilant about the bedtime stories The Guardian was telling us." Caleb couldn't help the dig. His father had been wrong to go behind his back and ask Bobby and John not to involve him in certain hunts, inadvertently putting Sam and Dean's lives in danger. If he didn't trust Caleb, he should have at least respected his role in The Brotherhood.

John growled. "So what did you find out about them?"

"That the dude from the Armageddon was right. The DOA weren't into worshipping anything but the almighty dollar. They may propagandize their lofty goals of revolution and anti-tyranny, goodwill tidings, but at the heart their core faction is no more than a body market. Well trained, expendable soldiers are hard to come by."

His father paled. "Modern slavery?"

"More like turn of the century shanghai."

"They sell the kids to the highest bidder?" John sighed. "It's all beginning to make a sick sort of sense. The ages and profiles of the victims, why there were never any bodies, no clear signs of ritualistic activity."

"A lot of third world, out of the way places with civil unrest are willing to pay top dollar for skilled man power."

"In a way the military and cults have some things in common. The way they target alienated youth, offering a mock family of sorts with the promise of a bright future, monetary gains and such."

John snorted. "The Marines aren't any goddamn cult, Mackland."

Mac ignored John, continuing with his line of thought. "But how could they get children across borders without proper authorization?"

"Are you kidding?" Caleb laughed. "A professed group of do-gooders wanting to perform mission work-to save the savages from themselves. Hell, Mac, people have hid evil agenda's behind goodwill since the beginning of time. And as you know, it's not hard to forge documents."

Mackland ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose we can take comfort in the fact that Sam and Dean aren't in the hands of a crazy cult leader and won't be offered up as sacrifice."

Caleb found no comfort in his father's suggestion. "Yeah because having them shipped off to some fucking guerilla infused foreign country is so much better."

"I understand you're worried, Son, and why you're angry with me," Mackland said. "But I won't tolerate the disrespect again. Understand me?"

"There would have to be a period of conversion, a time to train them."

John's sudden declaration spared Caleb a reply to the chastisement. He turned his focus to his mentor. "Like boot camp."

"Exactly. These kids they're picking up would need a whole hell of lot of work before being combat ready."

"Which would mean a more permanent facility, a place with equipment and firing range outside the city limits," Mackland said.

"Can any of your cult contacts help?"

Caleb shrugged. "I doubt it. Your militia buddies would probably know more."

John shook his head. "You know how hard that kind of information exchange is, Junior. It would take too damn long."

"Then perhaps someone else could help us." Mackland pulled out his phone. "The Great Storyteller himself."

"Jim?" John said.

"If these people masquerade as missionaries, I'm willing to bet our favorite pastor and ambassador of goodwill may have heard of them, or will be able to put us in touch with someone who has. Maybe they can get us in a general location, or even better yet, provide a contact. Caleb is itching to infiltrate, after all."

John crossed his arms over his chest. "Do we have to mention to Jim that I don't know the exact location of my sons?"

"Are you asking me to lie to The Guardian about Sam and Dean missing?"

Caleb reached for the phone. "Let me handle it, Dad." He gave his father a faint smile. "I'll tell him it's some cult I heard about. Apparently everyone knows how crazy I can get."

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

The sound of flesh striking flesh was very distinct, and hard to ignore. Fifteen-year-old Sam Winchester wondered if the apprehension was a natural aversion, something that all humans shared. He thanked his latest biology class and their discussion of innate responses for the momentary distraction. It was good to have something abstract to consider when the poor guy across from you was getting pummeled.

Whether humanly predisposed to respond or not, Sam stamped down on his reflexes and tried to disregard the urge to react. He kept his eyes focused on the empty metal plate in front of him, taking heart in his father's sage advice to avoid eye contact when wanting to appear submissive. On the inside Sam was anything but.

His Winchester instincts shouted at him to directly confront and defeat the current threat. Sometimes Sam wondered how much of his hardwiring was natural, and how much was brainwashed reflexes drilled into him by his larger than life father's attempts at nurturing.

"What the hell are you staring at, Winchester?"

Sam bit the inside of his mouth, willing for the world to stop spinning. He even wished for a few pigs to fly by their barred window, because it would take a miracle for his older brother Dean, the Winchester in question, to even comprehend the word submissive. Dean was a textbook case of nurture prevailing over nature. Thanks to their father, Sam's brother had little to no self-preservation instincts left.

"I haven't quite figured it out yet," Dean said. Sam cringed, recognizing the tone all too well as his older brother continued. "I mean you _look_ like a man, talk like a man, but the way you keep picking on kids half your size leaves me wondering if you aren't missing the necessary equipment it takes to be one of the guys. "

No one else at the wooden table spoke, no one moved. Sam was sure it was because everyone else was merely mortal. They were either trying not to draw attention to themselves or were perhaps dulled to the type of display by longer time spent in the camp. Dean Winchester however was in super hero mode. He lived for attention and was beyond desensitization to any cruelty or injustice done to someone he perceived as in need of his protection. Tonight that innocent was Henry Lopez. It was one of the reasons Sam both loved and loathed his brother. Dean's self-sacrificing was bound to get him killed one day, and then where would Sam be.

"What are you trying to say, Cadet Winchester?"

"Lacking in the _big_ brain department, too I see," Dean taunted. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, not even having to look up to know that there was a cocky smirk firmly affixed to Dean's face. It was as certain as Batman's mask, Superman's cape. "That's alright." Dean slid his chair back. "I don't mind interpreting for the less fortunate. I basically called you a dick-less moron."

"Is that so?" Mulroney slammed his fist into his palm. The younger but larger of the two sergeants made Dean look gangly, he was at least six-three with hands the size of the hams Pastor Jim would fix for Easter dinner.

Sam moved his leg against his brother's under the table, pressing his heel down on Dean's foot, praying for Dean to just once keep his mouth shut. His brother ignored him and Sam felt his apprehension swell.

Dean casually folded his arms over his chest, looking as if he were merely enjoying a fun loving game of insult swap with his best buddy, Caleb. The only problem being Mulroney was more likely to shoot Dean than offer up a good comeback. That didn't inhibit Dean in the least. He was bulletproof, after all.

Dean laughed. "I guess it could also translate into spineless pussy and a few other monikers I probably shouldn't say in front of the kids-I mean _cadets_."

Mulroney left Henry's side, his tormenting of the younger kid forgotten, replaced with a new target. Sam could see the bloodthirsty blaze in the guard's black eyes as the mean-spirited taunting was replaced by a murderous rage. Dean often had that effect on people. It was one of his super powers. "Dean," Sam hissed.

"Shut your mouth, Baby Winchester!"

Sam flinched, silently cursing the involuntary response. His reaction to the threat was like tossing accelerant and a match on old bones.

Dean pushed his chair back. "Chill, dude." His voice was still calm, playful even, but Sam sensed the change in energy. Dean was as about as harmless as a coiled snake, only Mulroney was too pissed off or just plain stupid to hear the warning rattle. "I was only trying to be helpful," Dean added.

The sergeant stepped into striking distance, which had been Dean's plan all along. Bring the prey to you. Sam knew from the moment Mulroney had back-handed Sam for asking a question on their first night there that Dean would somehow find a way to provoke the guard. Rescuing Henry Lopez was just a bonus. Sam tensed as Mulroney came closer. "How about I help you into a state of unconsciousness, pretty boy?"

"That your favorite pick-up line." Dean chuckled, ducked his head. "I got to say it really does suit a pansy-ass like you."

"Fuck you, you little prick."

Mulroney moved fast for a large opponent, but Dean was much quicker. He dodged the sergeant's meaty fist, driving his shoulder into Mulroney's gut, sending them both stumbling across the room. They crashed into the food cart, overturning dinner. Something akin to beef stew splashed across the dirt floor.

Sam stood but was caught in the wave of other boys as they all rose from the table, trying to untangle from the current chaos. Punishment for insubordination was severe and no one would want to be implicated as an accomplice.

The other sergeant, Smith, cursed. Sam pushed through the deluge of boys, pulling away from Brett Jonas as the teen grabbed his shirt. Sam was hoping to at least keep Smith distracted and away from Dean. Smith was smarter than Mulroney. He pulled his weapon, ordering Sam to stay where he was.

Sam did as he said, casting an anxious glance to the two men throwing punches. Dean was easily holding his own, his brother's skill compensating for his smaller frame, but Sam knew there was no way for Dean to win the fight. It was senseless from the beginning. Logic could be Dean's Kryptonite.

Dean took another vicious swing at Mulroney, followed it with some rabbit punches to the man's body that had the big guard teetering. He could have finished him off with an upper cut, even Sam saw the opening but then so had Smith.

Smith fired his weapon, bringing wood chips and mortar raining down from the ceiling. Some of the newer boys yelped, herding towards the corner like sheep while the others fell into a semblance of formation. Sam watched Dean hesitate, his green eyes seeking out and meeting Sam's briefly.

Dean's concern for Sam's safety was the only opening Mulroney needed. The thick-skulled sergeant rallied, hitting Dean with a sucker punch that sent him against the large iron pot-belly stove at the far end of the room. Despite being early summer, the desert nights were survived with a source of heat. It might have been harmless; a near calamity if Dean would have only brushed against the heated surface, but Mulroney pounced, using his bulk to take advantage of the situation.

"Dean!" Sam tried to move towards his brother as he realized what was about to happen.

"I said stay put." Smith gave him a hard shove towards the others, keeping his gun pointed at Sam's head.

Sam watched helplessly as Mulroney thrust his Popeye forearm against Dean's throat, pinning Dean partially against the stove, his brother's right shoulder blade pressed into the hot metal. Mulroney's bleeding face was inches from Dean's. "Who's the hot shot now, Winchester?"

Dean struggled to free himself. Mulroney's two hundred and fifty pound frame kept him in place like a sheet of folded parchment under a colossal paper weight. "Let him go!" Sam shouted. "Stop it!"

Dean cried out as the heat breached the flannel shirt he was wearing, eating swiftly through the thin tee beneath to reach defenseless skin. Sam's every muscle tensed with the adrenaline fueled urge to act. If the sound of flesh striking flesh was disturbing, the smell of burnt skin was a hundred times worse, especially when it was accompanied by an anguished cry of pain from your big brother. "Dean!"

"That's enough, Mulroney!" Smith ordered. "The colonel won't be happy if he's permanently damaged. Let the kid go." Mulroney ignored the other guard, was grinning madly, and enjoying watching Dean's tortured face. "Now!"

Mulroney held Dean to the stove a moment longer before finally pulling him forward. "Mess with me again, punk, and I'll roast the rest of you." He shoved Dean to the floor. "Maybe I'll cook up your pip squeak of a kid brother as a side dish."

Sam moved the moment Smith lowered his gun, sidestepping their ruined rations, going to his brother's side. Dean was curled into a protective ball; his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Sam rested a hand on his hair. "Dean?"

"Sonofabitch!" Dean spat. He was breathing quickly in and out through his nose. "Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm going to kill that fucking bastard…."

"Take it easy." Sam moved his attention to his brother's shoulder, trying to calm his own racing heart. The burn, although not as big as Sam feared, looked bad with pieces of cloth stuck to the red blistered skin high on Dean's back. "I'll get you fixed up."

"No. Leave it. I'm good." Dean took a deep breath, blinking up at Sam. He shook his head, using his good arm to push himself up. He gave Sam a critical once over. "You okay?"

A small scream bubbled from the recesses of Sam's soul, but he clenched his jaw to keep it silenced. "You're not okay." There were some things even John Winchester believed worthy of an ER visit. Burns were one of them. Infection could set in too quickly. Sam turned to look at Smith. "My brother needs to see a doctor."

"Your brother needs to learn his place and how to follow orders," Mulroney answered. He let his gaze go to the other boys, addressing Edward Jonas. "Jonas, you and your men clean up this mess. Thanks to Winchester, no one's getting any chow tonight."

The grumbles spread like a wave, but no one challenged the command as unfair punishment. "Let it go, Sammy."

Sam met his brother's glassy gaze, recognized pain beneath the bravado. He turned to Smith again. "The colonel won't be happy if Dean gets sick and can't play your war games." Sam had yet to meet the colonel, but he was taking heart in Smith's earlier declaration.

"The colonel isn't here," Mulroney snapped.

"And neither is the doctor," Smith said. He ran a hand over his gray buzz cut. "Your brother will just have to wait until tomorrow."

Sam got to his feet. Dean needed treatment now. "But…"

Mulroney wiped a hand under his bloody nose. "A 'yes, sir' is the correct reply, Cadet or do I have to teach you some more manners?"

Dean stood, edging in front of Sam. "Touch him again and I will end you."

Mulroney grinned in challenge. Sam grasped his brother's shirt. "Let it go, Dean."

"That's sound advice, Son." Smith patted his gun. "No need to make things harder. The sooner you adjust to the way things work around here, the better off you'll be."

"A day's maneuvers without breakfast should drive home the point," Mulroney said. "You want to see how your squad feels about missing lunch and dinner, too?"

Dean finally took a step back, keeping Sam behind him. Sam knew it was as close to surrender as his brother could manage. Still, he breathed easier when both guards were gone and he heard the telltale clicking of the numerous locks being engaged. Only then did he let go of his brother, helping Dean to one of the chairs around the table.

"Sam. I'm fine." Dean pulled away from him, wincing as he took a seat.

"Sure you are." Sam looked to the group of boys still huddled by the bunks, focusing on Brett. "Is there any kind of medical kit in here?"

Brett was about Sam's age, surpassing Sam in the height area, but skinnier. He had been the one to explain to Sam about the camp, about the true purpose of the Anici their first night in the make-shift barracks. "Maybe some peroxide and bandages in the bathroom."

Sam nodded and the blond hurried into the other room. It wasn't much but maybe he could manage until the morning. "Bring some cool water, too."

A few of the teens started to pick up the remainder of their meal, removing plates and spoons from the table as the muttered to one another. Edward Jonas took the setting from in front of Dean. He was Brett's brother, the oldest and biggest of the teens at the camp and played some kind of pseudo-leadership role. "We told you it was better to go along with what they say, Winchester. Do not buck the system. Even if you had gotten the best of Mulroney and Smith, there are plenty of other guards outside. The only thing you did was stir-up trouble for yourself and ruin dinner for everyone."

"You want to play their little war games, Eddie," Dean said. "Be my fucking guest. I didn't sign on to be shanghaied to a psychotic boot camp."

"And you think the rest of us did?" Edward slammed the plate on the table. "We were drawn in just like you and your brother."

It wasn't true. Sam and Dean had not been lured into the Descendants of Anici by hopes of finding a respite from life on the streets or a refuge from a hellish family. Sam and Dean had been sent to the Armor of God Shelter by their father to search out a supernatural being responsible for several disappearances.

"You are nothing like me or my brother," Dean said.

"Why?" Edward crossed his arms over his chest. "Because I'm not stupid enough to provoke Mulroney? You haven't been around long enough to judge me. "

"What can I say? I have a special talent for sniffing out cowards."

"Fuck you, man."

"You pick that up from your hero, Mulroney?"

"Dean." Sam sighed. His brother was hurt and pissed off and lashing out in typical Winchester fashion. Edward, on the other hand, was attempting to regain some of his territory. Growing up in his unique family most definitely had its downsides, but it also gave Sam a rare perspective. The Brotherhood was sometimes like a wolf pack and Sam had no problem recognizing an alpha male in fear of losing some of its ground. There was always much snarling and snapping of teeth. Sam met Dean's gaze. "Cut it out."

"He started it," Dean growled, bringing a hand to his lip, which had stopped bleeding. "Shouldn't put on the gloves if you don't want to spar."

Edward leaned against the table, getting dangerously in Dean's space. "I don't want you making things worse for my men." Sam knew wolves could smell weakness, would strike when another was injured or sick. He imagined it was why Edward chose now to make his stand. We are making the best of the situation and for some of us, it's better than what we left behind."

"Your men?" Dean raised a brow. "Are you kidding me? This isn't military school or even a fucking militia camp. You've been kidnapped, Patty Hearst. Your men are being trained to be sold off to the highest bidder as nothing more than moving targets.''

"My men are being trained by some of the finest military minds this country has ever known. They'll leave here with a marketable skill and be paid well for it. The DOA is giving them back control of their lives."

Dean snorted. "Just how long have you been here, dude?"

"Two years." It was Brett who answered. He'd re-entered the room carrying a scuffed black box and a pan of water. "We've been here two years."

"Shut up, Brett."

Sam felt his chest tighten as Edward straightened, taking a step back from Dean. He took the water and supplies from the other boy.

"Go help with the clean up," Edward ordered.

Brett met Sam's eyes, giving an apologetic shrug before joining the others. Edward placed the kit in front of Dean. "You'll be lucky to make it two days, Winchester with your attitude."

"That's okay. I'm not planning on a long visit."

"You think you'll have a choice in the matter. You may not have signed a contract, but you've pretty much pledged yourself to the cause by coming here. Nobody gets an honorable discharge if you know what I mean. The best you can hope for is to get a good placement, the worst –you get recycled." Edward cleared the rest of the mess from the table. "If you give it a chance, you might come to appreciate the opportunity you're being afforded."

"Can you say Stockholm Syndrome?" Dean said once Jonas left them alone. He winced as Sam soaked a sterile bandage in cool water and laid it across the burn.

"That's not funny, Dean." Sam didn't want to think what ways Edward and the others might have been twisted into believing they were being trained for a greater purpose. "They've been brainwashed by poor conditions, sleep and food deprivation, and probably much worse things."

"Some of the methods you're talking about are typical military procedure, Bro." Dean offered a weak imitation of his shit-eating grin. "Dad would make you drop and give him fifty for bad-mouthing the Marines."

Sam dug in the poorly stocked med kit until he found what he was looking for. "Kidnapping and torture is not a standard operating procedure." Dean hissed as Sam applied the antibiotic cream, but he didn't have any way of cleaning the wound without making it worse. "Neither is a second degree burn. We need to get out of here." Sam kept his voice low. No one knew their real purpose in being here, having bought into their cover story of two runaways from an alcoholic, abusive stepfather. Sam hadn't found it all that hard to make it sound convincing. Dean congratulated him on his acting skill.

"We will, Sammy. Dad's going to find us." Dean turned to meet his gaze. "Just put a band aid on it. I'll be fine."

Sam unwrapped more gauze, furious that Dean was being so cavalier about the injury. If he gave his typical line of 'I've had worse', Sam might just have to do the unthinkable and bust him in the face. He let the facts do his battering for him. "It's been two days. Dad has no idea where we are. We were on the road for hours once we left the city. We didn't make our last two contacts. "

"He'll find us." Dean's confidence was unwavering invoking that primal urge to want to strangle him again. Sam wondered briefly if fratricide was some dark primal instinct, but then Dean wrapped his fingers around his wrist, giving it a brief squeeze and all thoughts of life without his big brother escaped Sam. "And if he doesn't, I'll get us out of here. I promise, Sammy. Everything will be okay."

Sam didn't speak afraid his voice would betray him. Instead he continued to treat his brother, taking care of Dean, who always put taking care of Sam first. Sam found solace for himself in the fact that Dean never broke his promises.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Iron Will

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thank you to those who were kind and reviewed. This chapter was a little harder as I had to add in one of the important scenes from the Iron Box episode. It was a little hard as I'm quite squeamish. Also, I hope to post a tag for this past week's episode Death Takes a Holiday tomorrow, so keep an eye out for more Conversations. Happy reading.

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

Everything was not okay. Dean didn't know what hurt worse, his pride or his pack's shoulder straps rubbing against his wounded back. The day of maneuvers, which would have been a breeze under normal conditions, left Dean wiped and looking almost as green as the Lopez kid. The blazing heat of the sun wasn't helping matters.

"You okay?" Sam fell back in the forced return run to camp. He used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. "How's the shoulder?"

"Peachy." Dean tried not to jostle his load as he picked up his speed to match Sam's stride. His little brother was quickly catching up to him in height, having hit a sudden growth spurt since Christmas. Dean blamed the kid's long legs for the way Sam made the pace look easy. "Just enjoying the view."

Sam flashed him a look of disbelief. "You still feel sick?"

Dean rolled his eyes. He'd tossed his cookies like a rookie after their morning run into the desert. It was embarrassing. "I'm okay, Rambo."

Sam's skeptical gaze swept over Dean. "Sure you are."

"You looked good out there." Dean lowered his voice. Sergeant Smith was bringing up the rear ten yards back. "I guess you won't bust Dad's chops about the extra training anymore? It's paid off. You'll make sergeant if you aren't careful. Jonas will be shitting bricks."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam hissed. "I was doing what you said. Distracting the guards so you could map the territory. You did map the territory, right? We're getting out of here at nightfall?"

"It didn't take me four hours to get a lay of the land, Sam." Dean kept his legs moving as Smith cleared his throat behind them. "A guy would have to be a moron not to realize we're miles from civilization in the middle of the fucking desert." It didn't bode well for their escape. Dean wasn't stupid enough to start out across deadly terrain without proper supplies and a pretty good idea of where he was heading.

"What does that mean?"

"It means we may have to wait it out."

Sam's shoulder bumped against him as his brother moved in closer. "Are you sure it doesn't mean you're just itching to take these guys out?"

Dean fought to keep his equilibrium. The thought had crossed his mind. Seeing the way Mulroney used his authority pissed him off. "What they're doing is wrong."

"Of course it is. They're kidnappers and extortionists. Maybe worse, but they're not cultists, Dean. There is no demon. We should get out of here and let the police handle these creeps. Mac can use his FBI contacts."

A part of Dean agreed wholeheartedly. Humans were always more complicated and evil than their run of the mill spirit or demonic presence. "We need a plan, more information. Just give me a little more time to work it out."

"Yeah, because you're not a 'shoot first ask questions later' kind of guy."

Dean took a deep breath, trying to focus on the fact he could see the camp in the distance instead of the aching in his entire upper body. Sam was in a pissy mood and he didn't blame him. This was not the ideal way to spend summer break. That promised reprieve at Pastor Jim's farm was looking unlikely. He nodded towards the middle of the procession where Brett's blond head stood out. "Keep chatting up your buddy for useful intel and I'll continue my quest to finish a respectable second to last."

Sam's face took on a typical sympathetic look as he cast his gaze over Dean's shoulder where Henry Lopez was bringing up the rear. "Fine, but promise me you will try to keep your cool until we can get out of here."

Dean smirked. "I'm practically Mr. Freeze."

Sam didn't look happy about it, but he jogged ahead catching up to Brett. Dean slowed to a fast walk, playing what they had learned about the so-called cult through his head to get him through the final stretch.

It hadn't taken Dean long to realize the Anici were obviously a front, a well-manned one at that. By the time he and Sam put it all together they were already along for the ride. Once they made it to camp the so called sergeants numbered at least ten, all heavily armed. They sure as hell weren't the soft-spoken, well-meaning camp counselor types they had pretended to be when they approached Sam and Dean at the shelter offering a reprieve from the city.

Some of the muscle Dean easily pegged as former military, but most of them were no more than hired thugs, like Mulroney who probably couldn't pass the psych exam required to serve. There were twelve recruits although Brett told Sam he'd known there to be as many as fifteen at times. Dean figured those in charge kept the numbers low to ensure control.

Eddie and his kid brother were veterans. It was smart to keep a couple of regulars, someone on a peer level to paint the sunny side, and keep an eye on things. He imagined when Edward aged out that he would either join the ranks of the sergeants or go off to whatever war the Anici was being paid to back. Three boys had been at the camp for four months, near to graduating and getting their orders. A couple had been held back from other classes as the boys they started with were sent on to places Dean could only imagine. The two teens that had caught their father's attention when they had turned up missing were also among the ranks. Then there was the newbie crew, which consisted of him, Sam and Henry Lopez.

Henry, Hank to his friends showed up at the Armor of God Shelter the same night as Dean and Sam. The kid was starving, filthy, having slept on the streets for a couple of weeks. Henry's story was a sadder one than Dean and Sam's made up tale. The teen's father had been taken from his illegal job by immigration leaving the kid without any other family or money. Dean was drawn in from the minute Henry explained in his broken English that his father's love of baseball had only been one of the things that drew them to America a year before. Dean couldn't just abandon the teen now, even if the kid was a freaking Dodgers fan.

"Look alive, boys!" Mulroney blew his whistle, ordering them to fall in line as they reached the outskirts of base. "Colonel has arrived."

Dean scanned the building that served as an officer's headquarters off from the barracks. They hadn't had the pleasure of meeting the infamous commander as he was away on a mission when Dean, Sam and Henry arrived. Dean had an image of Colonel Sanders in his head, but blamed it on the fact he hadn't eaten anything but a couple of pieces of beef jerky in almost twenty-four hours.

"Get your squad in formation, Cadet Jonas."

Edward ticked off a quick salute, spun on his heel as he moved to do as Mulroney ordered. Dean walked to stand beside Sam, carefully sliding out of his pack and dropping it behind him. "Really? A fucking inspection?"

"Just play along, man," Sam said. "Please."

Dean rolled his shoulder, the burn flaring as raw skin met fresh air. He looked to his right, flashing Lopez a grin. "How's Hammerin' Hank holding up?"

Henry was bent over, hands resting on his knees for support. He looked up at Dean's voice, gave him a halfhearted thumbs up sign.

"No talking!" Edward moved past Dean, stopping in front of Henry. "Get it together, Lopez. You puke while in formation and you're licking it up. Do you understand me?" He jerked his own arms up behind him, demonstrating the pose he was expecting from Henry. "Parade Rest. High and tight behind you."

"Give him a break, Edward."

"I wasn't addressing you, Winchester."

"No, because you were too busy picking on the fat kid who doesn't speak English."

Edward got in Dean's face. "Maybe you'd like to drop and give me twenty before the Colonel arrives?"

"That's not going to happen." Dean wasn't about to give Jonas the pleasure, and wasn't entirely sure his injured shoulder would allow the feat if he was so inclined. "How about you put those on my tab?"

"Is there a problem, Jonas?"

Dean rolled his eyes as Mulroney stomped their way. He was surprised when Edward replied. "No, sir. Just explaining formation to the new recruits."

"Baby Winchester seemed to understand basic procedures pretty well in the field." The sergeant glanced at Sam who was in perfect stance and then to Dean. "You the dumb one in the family, Winchester Senior?"

"Sam's always been the super achiever," Dean said.

"Maybe he wants to do your pushups for you then?" Mulroney looked from Dean to Edward. "What was it, Cadet Jonas? Fifty?"

"It was twenty, Sir."

Mulroney turned to Sam. "You heard him, Baby Winchester. Drop and give me fifty." He turned to Jonas. "You drop and give me the same."

"But…" Edward stuttered.

"Make it seventy-five."

Dean shook his head even though he could feel his brother's gaze on him, willing him to shut up. "I'll do the fucking twenty. Leave them out of it."

"You had your chance to follow orders, Winchester. I suggest Cadet Jonas and Baby Winchester take their opportunity quickly before I up the ante."

Sam and Jonas dropped to the ground, starting the round of punishment. Dean glared at Mulroney. "This isn't over."

Mulroney smiled. "You're telling me."

Another shrill whistle sounded. With the military parody Dean was thankful the sergeant didn't use a bugle. "Attention!" Smith barked.

Mulroney ordered Sam and Edward to their feet, quickly moving to the head of the line, falling in with the other cadets in formation.

Dean shot his brother a look. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Just pretend this is one of Dad's inspections," Sam replied softly, not meeting Dean's gaze. "You've never had a problem playing soldier before."

It was true. Dean learned military cadence before he learned to tie his shoes. He moved his legs into position, looking straight ahead. From what he could see of the colonel in his peripheral vision, the man was not what he had been expecting. With his cowboy hat and boots he looked more cattle rancher than high-ranking military officer. Maybe it was fitting considering the Anici sold their members off like livestock.

The colonel strolled down the line, a grin on his sun-leathered face. He had a riding whip in his hand, snapping the black braided leather against his leg with each step he took. "I see some new faces have arrived since my last visit."

"Three new recruits, sir." Mulroney followed a respectful pace behind the colonel. "All prime candidates for the DOA program."

"Looks like the vaquero hasn't found his gait yet." The colonel eyed Henry who was still standing in parade rest, not having caught the transition to attention.

"Cadet Lopez's English isn't the best."

"That shouldn't be a problem. The right kind of training can bridge barriers like communication. Body language has its finer points. I've never had to talk to a horse to get him to do what I wanted." He slapped the hard handle of the crop against his palm. "Some of the best cow ponies I've trained have come from south of the border. Nothing like the Spanish mustang heritage." Dean almost expected the old man to reach over and lift Henry's lip to get a look at his teeth. "You know anything about horses, boy?"

The colonel leaned in, speaking louder as if Henry were deaf. "Caballos?"

"Answer the colonel, Cadet Lopez."

Dean cut his gaze to Henry who had begun to shake, looking closer and closer to doing just what Edward had warned him against. Puking on the colonel's boots would probably carry a stiffer penalty than seventy-five pushups. Dean cleared his throat. "I always liked Mr. Ed myself."

The colonel swung his brown gaze to him. "And who might you be, son?"

"Well, I'm not your son."

"This is Cadet Winchester," Mulroney said.

The colonel stepped in front of Dean, bringing his hands behind his back to clasp each end of the riding prop. "Your English seems fine. So what's your excuse for disobeying the rules about cadets speaking unless spoken to? Are you dull-witted, or just stupid, Cadet Winchester?"

"He has a fever," Sam said. Dean shot his brother a glare meant to silence him, but Sam continued on. "My brother has a bad burn and your men haven't allowed him treatment."

"Is that so?"

Sam nodded. "He's speaking out of his head."

The colonel nodded. "And you, boy? Are you feverish?"

"No, Sir." Sam swallowed. "I just wanted to explain."

"And do you know anything of horses?"

"My brother doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut…" Dean started.

"I've ridden a few," Sam said. Dean resisted the urge to reach out and cuff him on the back of the head. This wasn't some school teacher his brother could impress.

"And what do you think?"

"I think no hour of life is wasted that is spent in a saddle."

Dean ducked his head, mumbling a few choice words under his breath. Sam was the one talking nonsense, quoting dead military leaders.

"Winston Churchill?" The colonel brought his riding crop around slapping it against his hand. "Now there's a man after my own heart, even if he was British."

Sam nodded. "He knew how to rally the troops, Sir."

"That he did." The colonel glanced at Dean and then to Sam. "The man also knew how to handle a horse."

Dean watched the colonel's impressed look fade to the background, recognized the glint of anger in the man's blue gaze. "You have to let the animal know right away who is boss."

"What about spirit?" Dean stepped forward, drawing the old man's attention from Sam. "A good horse needs to have a will of his own. If not you might as well buy yourself a donkey."

"Fall back into formation, Cadet," Mulroney ordered.

The colonel smiled, nonplussed by Dean's attitude. "Spirit and willfulness are two entirely different things, son. The key to good work horses is in bending one without completely breaking the other." He slapped the crop against his palm, stepping closer to Dean. "I happen to have a formula for that very thing."

"I hope it's better than your plan to turn out soldiers, because this sure as hell ain't West Point."

"Actually, I haven't tried it on a recruit before. You'll be my first."

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

The riding whip left long whelps along Dean's back and side, bringing blood on the particularly vicious strikes. The crop was no cat o nine tails, but the damage it inflicted left Sam wanting to strangle the colonel.

The man had Dean strapped to the high fence in the courtyard, his own personal stage for the other recruits. Dean was stripped of his shirt, and then to add insult to injury Mulroney administered the beating while the colonel explained to his recruits that flogging was a certain specialty of The British Army back in the day, offering up to 700 lashes for offenses. Winston Churchill, himself probably sanctioned it.

Dean got lucky with a mere twenty-five.

Sam had a ringside seat, held in place by Edward's warning that any interference would only make it worse for Dean. Sam had caused enough damage. As Mulroney and Smith cut his brother down, the colonel had pleasantly addressed Sam, informing him that a doctor would be available the next day.

Dean moaned, the cool water Sam was using to cool his back bringing him around. "Dean?"

"He is awake?" Henry approached Dean's bunk, a hopeful look on his face.

Sam moved to the head of the mattress, placing a hand on his brother's hair. "Dean?"

Dean had been mostly unconscious since the beating, spending the night restless, drifting in and out of awareness. His fever had spiked during the night. Dean asked for Dad at one point. Edward supplied them a bottle of Tylenol he'd not been forthcoming with the night before with the burn. The public beating had seemed to steal some of Jonas's arrogance, but neither he nor his brother offered any further assistance after getting Dean settled in the lone bunk at the farthest end of the room. Sam imagined it wasn't the first time the filthy mattress had been used for the infirm. The other recruits stayed clear of the Winchesters, though Sam felt their gazes before lights out.

Only Henry had been stalwart. Sam glanced towards one of the small windows and a faint tug of hope pulled at him. The sun was starting to rise.

"Sammy?"

Dean's voice slurred, but the name was music. "Hey?" Sam knelt on the dirt floor, meeting his brother's glassy green gaze. He moved his palm to his brother's face. Dean's skin was cooler to the touch. "It's about time you woke up."

"Where's Dad? What…" Dean tried to push himself up from the cot, not making it more than an inch off the mattress. "Shit."

"I wouldn't try moving around too much." Sam laid a hand on his brother's arm. "Your temperature is back to normal, but you're still a mess."

Dean let his head come to rest on the pillow again with a cough. "Still at Camp Kidnap and Torture?"

Sam's eyes burned and his voice broke. "It's nothing like the brochure."

Dean blinked, looking at him. "You okay?"

"No," Sam said, but then was quick to add. "I'm not hurt. You scared me, man. This is bad."

"It's okay." Dean managed to make it to one elbow with minimal moaning as if offering up proof. Sam appreciated the effort, but wished his brother wouldn't try so hard to protect him at his own expense. "We're getting out of here, bro."

"You are sick," Henry said. "You should go nowhere for now."

Dean looked towards the younger teen, seeming to notice his presence for the first time. "Sorry, Hank, but I didn't ask for a second opinion."

Henry folded his arms over his chest. "You are an ass."

Dean looked at Sam. "Was that a thank you?"

His brother's face might be able to mask the pain, but his eyes were a different story. Sam could read Dean's every emotion in his green gaze. "If so, it translated poorly."

"So much for bridging communication gaps."

Sam understood what Henry was trying to say. He felt the same way. Dean could be completely infuriating even if it was in the most honorable ways.

"You don't know what's good for you," Henry continued. He made a looping motion at his right temple, a visual aid for Dean's benefit. "Loco."

"Yeah?" Dean coughed, making it to a seated position with Sam's support. "You're welcome, amigo."

"El Capitan was showing his plume." Henry did a tight sashay, flapping his arms as if they were wings. "He did not bother me."

Sam had tried to explain to Henry that it wasn't his fault Dean was hurt, even as Sam's own guilt sank it's talons in. Henry was not easily convinced. Dean's back was damning evidence. Sam told the teen that his brother was hardwired to offer himself up for others.

"Heroes do not live through the story."

Sam looked away when Dean's eyes zeroed in on him. He might have blathered on about how his brother was heroic to a fault. He wasn't quite sure what he had said to Henry through the night as they cared for Dean, but Sam had a feeling Hank understood more than he was given credit for.

"I'm no hero," Dean said. The slight tremble in his brother's voice brought Sam's gaze up. "Trust me."

Sam wanted to object. The proof was definitely on his side in this case. Sam could tick off the counts of bravery his brother was guilty of as easily as he could point out the scars evident on Dean's shirtless torso. But Henry beat him to the punch.

"Then you are dumb _and_ hard of seeing."

Dean frowned. "Come again?"

Henry smiled. "I am not the fat kid."

Sam wanted to laugh at the teen's reference to what Dean had accused Edward of, but the memories of where it led prevented him from doing so. Dean's swaying didn't help either.

"Whoa." He reached out to steady his brother, taking a seat by him on the bed. "Take it easy."

"This sucks," Dean said. His eyes were closed, his breath coming in short pants. "What happened to sending people to the stockade?"

"I think the colonel is more of a hands on kind of guy," Sam said. "All the more reason for us to get out of here."

Dean's eyes were as hard as jade when he looked at Sam. "All the more reason for us to take the bastard out."

Henry took a seat on Sam's other side. "Es Loco."

"You can barely move." Sam agreed with Henry. "Give yourself a couple of days."

"You think Mulroney is going to go easy on me because I'm hurt?"

Sam hadn't thought about it. Afternoon training drills had been cancelled yesterday in lieu of the public flogging. The colonel had called it a teachable moment, and given the recruits the evening to mull over its importance. Any other reprieves would be unlikely.

"But the colonel promised you could see a doctor today."

"What kind of doctor is going to work for a place like this, Sammy?"

"No good doctor," Henry said.

Dean's breath hitched and Sam noticed sweat was beading on his brother's forehead. "I'm with Hank. No sawbones worth his weight in whiskey is going to hang his shingle at 'toy soldiers of fortune are us'."

"He's a veterinarian," Edward said. Sam looked up. The older Jonas stepped to the end of Dean's bed. Some of the other recruits were also stirring. "If you catch him on a day when he's not had too much of the sauce, he's pretty decent for run of the mill stuff."

"Like whippings and burns?" Sam said. "I'm not letting some functional alcoholic animal doctor take care of my brother."

"Not so quick, bro," Dean said. "If the man has some pain meds I'll lick his hand and piddle on his boots."

"You'll need some if you're going to make it through drills today."

"He's hurt." Sam stood. "Can't you pull some strings with Mulroney?"

"Look, I'm sorry for what happened." Edward looked at Dean. "Really. But I tried to warn you. This isn't a good place."

"What happened to your speech about reaping the benefits?" Sam said. "You painted a different picture when we first got here."

"Sometimes you have to create an illusion for yourself to survive the reality of a situation." Edward jerked up one of his shirt sleeves, thrusting his arm towards Sam. Small round scars were dotted from the teen's wrist to the inside of his elbow, his skin appearing a macabre mosaic of puckered pinks and reds. "I had lots of practice growing up." Edward pulled down his sleeve. "This place is heaven compared to where I came from. I can't risk messing it up for me or my brother."

"This is just a different kind of prison, man," Dean said.

Edward inclined his head. "One where I'm on the warden's good side."

Sam didn't get a chance to answer. He heard the locks on the door being opened. Recruits scurried from their beds, rushing to the end of their bunks to prepare for morning inspection. The colonel's exhibition last night had left a definite impression. Edward moved away from them and Sam helped Dean to his feet. "Can you do this?"

"I'll deal."

There was no other choice. Sam made sure his brother was steady on his feet before letting him go to prepare himself for Mulroney's morning power trip. If he followed procedures to the letter, he might garner his brother a visit with the veterinarian. The sergeant entered with his usual flare, but instead of being accompanied by his partner, Smith, another man followed him in.

"Holy shit," Dean said.

Sam's hope surged. "Caleb."

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Iron Will

Beta: Tidia

A/N: A very huge thanks to the very kind reviewers. Helpful criticism and comments are always appreciated. Thanks also , to my friend who encouraged me to re-write parts of this. I think her ideas made it a better piece. Poor Tidia edited this like three times, so all lingering mistakes are most definitely mine because I kept fine-tuning without her knowledge. Also, keep an eye out, Tidia and I have a new Conversation for the latest episode due out on Monday or Tuesday!

RCJ

Caleb had to put up his psychic shields as he followed Sergeant Mulroney into the makeshift barracks as the sudden burst of feelings struck his defenses. Fear. Anxiety. Panic. The link to Dean and Sam zinged. It took most of his restraint to not physically search them out.

"Attention!" Mulroney strutted into the center of the room. "Prepare for inspection."

He casually eyed the lineup of men, holding his own feelings in check as he briefly caught Sam's gaze. "These are all the recruits you have?"

Mulroney nodded. "We had a deployment last month, a group of five shipped out. It takes time to rebuild ranks when you're looking for quality."

"And you don't want to raise suspicions." Caleb knew all too well how easy it was for a kid to be lost in the fucked-up legal system and how an organization like the DOA could use the public's ignorance to further their exploitation of the problem.

Mulroney laughed. "You wouldn't believe how easy it is. Like stealing someone's trash and turning it for a profit they never miss."

"Perhaps I should explain that to my employer and see if he wants to bargain for a better price?"

Mulroney stuttered. "No…I mean, getting the labor is only the beginning. The process of training is…"

"Easy, big fella. I was joking." Caleb held up his hand, forcing a quick grin. "The Anici's reputation is beyond reproach."

Mulroney rubbed his forehead. "Right. I didn't want to give the wrong impression." The two stopped in front of a tall, muscular boy with pale blond hair and freckles. Caleb would have read the kid, but kept his mental focus on Mulroney. It took concentration to sift through the man's mind, finding the precise thing he was looking for, the correct buttons to push. He needed time alone with the boys. Mulroney was going to oblige one way or the other.

"This is Edward Jonas. Jonas is a senior cadet," Mulroney said. "He helps with the new recruit's transition."

"Sir." Edward saluted.

"At ease, kid," Caleb gave the teen another once over. "How long have you been in the program?"

Edward looked to Mulroney for permission to speak. The sergeant nodded. "Mr. Seaver is here representing a prospective investor." Mulroney winced, massaging his temples. "The uhh…the colonel asked me to give him a quick tour of the facilities."

"Two years, Sir," Edward answered.

"He's the cream of the crop. I handled his training myself."

"I see." Caleb turned to study Mulroney "You're like a drill sergeant?"

"Something like that." Mulroney gave a grin. Caleb clenched his fists as the man's thoughts crossed the open link he'd established. Mulroney was a sadist, enjoying the power he wielded over the teens. His sleazy smile vanished instantly as Mulroney grabbed at his head. "What the…"

"Are you alright?" Caleb reached out and steadied the sergeant, his touch increasing the control he could exert. "You don't look so good."

"Damn headache," Mulroney hissed.

Caleb tightened his grip. "I get bad migraines myself," Caleb said. "I usually end up worshipping the porcelain god."

"It's nothing." Mulroney shook off Caleb's touch. "I'm fine."

Caleb's mouth twitched as he found what he was looking for. The brain was an amazing structure. "You sure?"

Mulroney doubled over, looking as green as the uniform shirt he was wearing. Edward took a wary step away from the man as the sergeant straightened himself, looking on the verge of tossing his guts on the barracks floor. "Jonas…finish the tour." The sergeant gestured to the door. "I'll be back."

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

Dean felt Henry tense beside him as Caleb started their way with his bull charging a red cloak determination on his face. "No worries, Hank. The Calvary has arrived."

"Sammy."

Damien touched the vivid bruise on Sam's face, Dean flushed with guilt. He should have kept Mulroney from laying a hand on his brother. He saw his own anger blaze in his best friend's eyes as Caleb came to stand in front of him. "You guys alright?"

"Dean's really sick," Sam said.

"Sam…" Dean started to shake his head, blinking rapidly when his balance betrayed him. Spots of bright lights sparked off and on, Dean was sure he was headed for the floor when Caleb gripped his arm.

"Deuce."

"I'm okay." It was a lie. Dean's back was on fire, his body thrumming with the intense ache, but he forced his eyes open, trying to offer up some kind of smirk. Caleb's pissed off face had morphed into his worried one. The crazed grizzly bear routine was on the way.

"I see you've been making friends while away at camp."

"No one to write home about." Dean cut his gaze to Lopez. "Just Henry. We've bonded over baseball. Unlike you and Sammy, he can actually throw one over home plate."

"Since when did baseball become a full contact sport? You don't look in any shape to be tossing the ball around, Kiddo."

Caleb knelt in front of him, his expression grim. Dean was sure his best friend was mentally cataloging his long list of aches and pains. The psychic thing always put Dean at a disadvantage where Damien was concerned. He couldn't hide what he was feeling, although playing their familiar game gave Dean a sense of comfort. "I still look better than you with your bitch face."

"What the hell happened to you?" Caleb rested a hand on his knee; Dean knew it was to provide a better read on him. He hoped to spare his friend the telepathic instant replay.

"Three words, Dude." Dean forced a grin to take some of the sting away. "Corporal punishment sucks."

Sam crushed his attempts at watering down the graphic version. "He has a bad burn to his shoulder and they whipped him."

Caleb looked to Sam. "They?" Caleb let loose with a string of words, which would have cost him a week of memorizing and reciting Bible verses at Jim's house. "They who exactly?"

"Dude, you're scaring the locals." Dean glanced at Henry. "Look over his bad manners, Hank. He gets his feathers ruffled when he's in mother hen mode." There would be no good to come from rehashing what had happened. The important thing was to find out what Dad's plan was because Dean had no doubt his father was somewhere close by.

"This changes things." Caleb moved his hand to Dean's brow. His fingers felt cold, Dean resisted the urge to lean into the other man's touch, to turn over the reigns. "I need to get you two out of here. Now."

Getting out sounded good. Dean swallowed, trying to bring moisture to his dry throat. Having someone to take over, to help Dean keep Sam safe was even better. Damien was the perfect person for the job.

"How?" Sam inched closer. "They're guards everywhere."

Caleb looked at him. "This place have a back door?"

"You're full of surprises today." Dean pulled away from Caleb as his common sense returned. "First I thought your ability to make a person want to run away and hurl only worked on women, and now you're telling me you have a stealth cloaking system, too?"

"Good to see you can engage the smart ass mode." Caleb moved his hand to the back of Dean's neck, giving a gentle squeeze. "How many people am I looking at taking out to get us the hell out of here?"

Dean licked his lips, letting the chick flick move slide. "Too many, Damien. And this whole operation needs to be shut down." Dean could see the wheels turning. Damien wasn't the only one good at reading people. "You better stick with Dad's original plan."

"I can't leave you two here."

Dean could empathize. If the situation was reversed there would be no way he could walk away from Sam and Caleb. "What part of armed military encampment don't you understand?"

Caleb ran a hand through his hair. "I saw the armed guards when I came in."

"Mulroney has a partner, too," Sam said. "He's always covering our barracks."

"The retired jarhead, Smith. Right. I met him."

"What's going on?" Edward demanded. "Who is this?"

Dean glared at Jonas. "None of your damn business, Eddie. Go back to your post."

Caleb motioned to the front of the room. "And get one of your men to watch the door, Gomer Pyle."

"What? No. I'm going to get…"

Dean had to give Edward credit. The guy was stubborn, but no match for the Winchester obstinacy.

Sam stepped forward, blocking Eddie's path. "Do what he says, Edward. We can help you." Sam gestured to the rest of the recruits watching them. "All of you."

"But…"

"Do it." Caleb stood, moving alongside Sam. "Or when we take this place apart you're going down with the bad guys."

Dean was proud at the ferocity of Sam and Caleb. He noticed Damien raised his voice so the others would understand the threat included them. "And believe me when I say this place is going down."

"Are you a cop?" Edward stared from Caleb to Dean. "Is this some kind of sting?"

"La policia?" Henry distanced himself further.

"He's not a cop, dude," Dean assured. The idea was almost funny considering Damien's distrust of any kind of established authority. As for himself, thoughts of 21 Jump Street went through his head for a moment. He could so be Johnny Depp.

"Don't worry about the details." Caleb pointed at Edward. "Be a good squad leader and fill your boys in on their new mission."

"Which is?"

"To keep their mouth shuts and their heads down."

"You can trust him," Sam added. "Just act as if nothing's changed. He's one of the good guys."

"Funny." Edward clenched his fists. "We've heard that before."

"It's your best chance, Eddie" Dean said. He felt for the guy, understood all too well about doing what was best for your family. The thing Edward couldn't see was that his shelter was about to be blown to hell. He wouldn't be able to protect his brother from the fall out unless he bet on them. "A lot better than being shipped off to some other man's holy war or risking your ass for a lowlife drug cartel."

Edward's face changed into a look Dean was very familiar with. He'd seen it on Damien's only a few moments before. Dean wore it daily. Edward glanced towards the others, his gaze resting on Brett, who was still standing by his bunk. "We'll go along, but if this goes wrong…"

"It won't," Sam said.

Dean hoped his little brother wasn't making a promise they couldn't keep. "That pretty much rules out you taking us out the back door, Damien."

The little gasp that escaped Dean didn't make the bleak truth any easier to accept.

"Fuck," Damien swore, pointing a finger at Edward. "Get that fucking door covered now."

"Brett, watch the door." Edward stalked towards the middle of the barracks. "Everyone else, get back into formation."

Dean forced another grin. "Jim would be so disappointed in your diplomacy vocabulary, man."

"Fuck diplomacy."

"Where's Dad?" Dean asked.

Caleb reclaimed the spot in front of Dean. "He and Mac are in Brownsford. It's a virtual ghost town about fifteen miles from here."

"How'd you find us?" Sam knelt by Caleb.

"Long story short, Pastor Jim put us in touch with a guy who knew a guy who knew my alias, Thomas Seaver. So much for Mac's rant about me wasting time running in the cult circles."

"I'm still with Mac." Dean thought his friend spent too much energy on the demonic devout. "You need to let that shit go."

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Says the genius who volunteered to go under in a suspected satanic human sacrificing cult."

"News flash, demon watch dog. This isn't a cult."

"Really?"

"What's the plan?" Sam said. He bumped his shoulder against Caleb's, cutting off the bantering.

Dean appreciated his brother's single-minded tenacity. He got that from their father. "I don't think Dad expected you to walk in and waltz us out under your coat?"

"This is recon. Just to make sure you guys were being held here, and to see what we were up against. Busting a bunch of humans isn't exactly our forte. I had a nightmare last night." He met Dean's gaze and Dean knew instantly who was cast in the lead of that little psychic show. "It prompted us to move up the timeline on getting information. We were lucky to come up with a contact."

"I'm willing to bet Pastor Jim wouldn't go for the whole A-Team thing," Sam said. "It would be front page news."

"I don't know. Coming in with some heavy fire power and wiping the place out is sounding pretty damn good to me."

"You can't take them out in another way?" Dean lifted a hand to his head, raising a brow. He didn't understand all the intricacies, but he'd seen Damien do some freaky shit. "Like you took care of Mulroney?"

Caleb shook his head. "I need close proximity and even then two's about all I can handle." His frown deepened. "I could try but…"

"No." Dean glanced to Henry, then met Caleb's gaze again. "Too risky for everyone else." As much as Dean wanted to get his brother out of Camp Sadism, he couldn't risk collateral damage to innocents. Caleb did not need to take the risk without backup.

"The colonel's coming!"

Brett's excited voice had the recruits snapping to attention and Caleb moving closer to him. "You two need to keep your heads down. We'll be back before tomorrow. I promise."

"Don't worry," Dean said. "What else could go wrong?"

Caleb gripped his forearm. "I mean it, Deuce. No more trouble. You got it?"

Dean nodded. "I'll be good."

"Sammy?" Caleb reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Take care of your brother. We just need a few hours."

"I've been trying."

"I understand, Runt." Caleb winked at Dean. "It's shitty, thankless work."

"Fuck you, man." Dean turned his hand so he could return his friend's grip. Caleb tugged him to his feet and steadied him. "Having me around is the only reward you need."

Caleb let him go, and Dean understood what the distance cost him as Damien gave one more longing look towards the doorway before stepping away from him and Sam. "Damn straight."

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

Caleb let Dean go, quickly taking a step back as the door banged open. "Mr. Seaver?" The good colonel strolled into the bunkhouse, Smith right on his heels like a good hound. "I'm sorry about Sergeant Mulroney abandoning his post. It seems he's come down with something. I hope Cadet Jonas was a good host in his vacancy."

"Jonas was indeed helpful." Caleb turned to face the colonel, inclining his head towards Dean. "Just inspecting your handiwork."

"We demand obedience and respect at the DOA, both traits our clients pay a great deal for as I'm sure you're well aware." The colonel eyed Dean and Caleb worked hard at not reading the bastard. He didn't trust his restraint. "I've broken more than my share of young broncs. I won't tolerate a challenge to my authority."

"That's good business in our business."

The colonel nodded. "A grunt who doesn't understand chain of command is about as useful to a commander as a wild stallion is on a cattle drive. I doubt if your boss is scouting for undisciplined labor."

"So you handle discipline personally?" Caleb maintained a neutral expression, although it was hard fought. "I pass judgment, deliver the appropriate sentence." The colonel tapped the ever present crop against his thigh, gave a throaty laugh. "I allow the sergeants to dole out the punishment as it seems to strengthen their credibility with the recruits.

"My people won't pay for a damaged product."

The colonel grasped the crop with both hands. "As a great man once said, I can always create more soldiers, horses are expensive. If these men aren't to your liking I can find others."

Caleb folded his arms over his chest. "From what I've seen, I think we can do business." He looked at Sam and then Dean. "These will be ready for purchase soon?"

"Certain breeds require a heavier hand that's all." The colonel nodded to Dean. "They are often the most valuable when tamed."

"Meaning, I'm going to have to be a shrewd negotiator to keep the price reasonable."

"You get what you pay for, son." The colonel clasped Caleb's shoulder and the psychic flinched. "I'm much more agreeable over a glass of whiskey and a good cigar."

"I can work with those conditions." Caleb glanced to the boys again. "As for these conditions, I happen to know a doctor who's known for his ability to keep his business very confidential." If he could plant a seed to get Mac in the door early it would provide them an inside gun and get Dean treatment faster.

"No need," the colonel waved a hand, quashing the faint hope. "I have a doctor who is a trusted colleague. He'll be here today after maneuvers. I assure you the group of recruits we provide your employer will be in excellent health."

Caleb forced a grim smile. "He won't accept anything less." John would kill the man, or Caleb would. Either way, this would be the last business deal of the good colonel's career.

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

Sam tightened his hold on his brother, helping Dean manage the last leg of the run. Smith had allowed him to help when Dean collapsed on the way back to camp. Thanks to Caleb, Mulroney was too sick to accompany them on morning maneuvers. Even with Smith's leniency, the fact Dean made it out to the shooting range, climbing wall and part of the run was miraculous. He was paying for it now. The sun wasn't at its peak, yet the temperature had spiked, sapping Dean of his reserves.

"We're almost there." Sam's legs felt like jelly, Dean's failing strength not helping matters.

Dean's head dropped to his shoulder. "I need to…stop, Sammy."

"Not yet," Sam encouraged, blocking out his brother's harsh pants. "You can make it."

Dean gave a little snort. "Where's one of the colonel's fucking horses when you need them?"

The attempt at levity was appreciated. "I doubt if he thinks we're worthy of his prize stock."

"I can't wait to show that sonofabitch what I think of him."

Sam used his free hand to wipe sweat from his forehead. His hair was dripping, falling into his eyes. "I hope we're out of here before you're in any shape to take on that task."

"Damien will do it for me."

Sam didn't doubt that. Caleb could be as vigilant a protector as Dean. "Or Dad."

The possibility had Dean looking up, some clarity in his green eyes. "Show'em what a real soldier is made of."

Sam shouldered more of Dean's weight as he caught sight of the camp's high gate in the distance. "I think you already did that, big brother."

Dean stumbled, but Sam kept him on his feet. "We're coming in dead last after Hank, Sammy. Dad would shit."

Sam gritted his teeth, refusing to point out that Dean was injured and near delusional. Sam would never forgive their father for Dean's belief that no matter what he did, it was never enough. "You finished and you're conscious. That's more than anyone could have done. Maybe you are descended from the Anici."

"Dragon slayers?" Dean grunted. "I don't think so."

"They were considered heroes." Sam had started the debate on the way back, hoping to distract his brother from the pain he was in, and chose to continue to help them finish the task at hand. "Unconquerable, even by the greatest of embodiment of evil represented by the dragon."

"I prefer Merlin's take on things. Dragons are the good guys."

"So said the jade dragon, Athewm." Over the years Sam found some of the wonder wearing off Pastor Jim's tales of winged magical sentries. Sometimes he wasn't sure if Prince Samuel was being protected from danger or guarded from escaping to somewhere the danger didn't exist. He sighed; thankful the bunkhouse was only a few feet away now that they had passed through the fence line. "I guess it depends on who is telling the story."

"I guess," Dean muttered, and Sam felt a stab of remorse for bringing it up.

"We're here," he said. Dean didn't reply, allowing his brother to guide him into the barracks where Henry greeted them with a canteen of cold water. "I was worried."

Sam helped Dean to the bed, offering him a drink of water, before taking some for himself. He noticed the other recruits were standing at the end of their bunks, looking exhausted, but alert. "What's going on?"

Henry shifted on his feet, glancing towards the door. "Edward said the colonel has called a special meeting."

"Great." Dean lifted his head, giving his brother a halfhearted smirk. "This day keeps getting better."

"Maybe the doctor is here," Sam said. The veterinarian wasn't looking so bad now.

The look on the colonel's face when he entered, and the fact he was accompanied by two more armed men than usual lent to this not being a good visit, or even a typical inspection. Edward reclaimed his role as good platoon leader, calling the troops to attention. Sam and Henry got Dean on his feet, although his brother was unable to maintain form. "Just a few more hours," Sam whispered. He hoped to remind Dean of Caleb's assurance of his return before the night was over.

Dean nodded. Sam wasn't comforted by the idea his brother was too sick to be insubordinate. He turned his focus to the colonel in the center of the room, flanked by Mulroney and Smith. The other guards stayed at the door.

"I received some disturbing news this morning." The colonel looked towards Sam. "It would seem there are traitors among us."

Dean kept his head down, but Sam heard his brother's soft words. "How much you want to bet he means us?"

"Do you have something to say on the matter, Cadet Winchester?"

The colonel moved closer to them. Sam bit his lip, clamping down on those Winchester instincts. When he didn't reply, the colonel stepped toe to toe with the younger Winchester.

"I'm talking about sedition, mutiny, high treason."

Dean lifted his head, smirked. "Sounds duplicitous."

The colonel's reached out and gripped Dean's chin. "I'm talking about Mr. Seaver. Thomas Seaver."

Dean pulled away, and Sam tightened his hold on his brother to keep him from falling. "Who?"

"The dumb act doesn't suit you, Baby Winchester," Mulroney said. "You can't pull it off as well as your brother.

"The guy you brought in this morning?" Sam looked to the sergeant, hoping the sound of his heart thundering in his chest wasn't audible outside his head. "What about him?"

The colonel laid his riding prop against Sam's face, directly over the bruise on his cheek pressing hard enough to hurt. "I understand that he was very interested in you and your brother."

"He asked about Dean's injuries," Sam spoke carefully, refraining from looking towards Edward. The bastard had turned them in. "That's it."

"I told your potential customer to go fuck himself," Dean said. "Did he tattle on me?"

The colonel removed the whip, clenching the leather braid in his hand. "On the contrary, he didn't say anymore about you."

"Then what's this about?" Sam said.

The colonel's face contorted with eyes full of fury. He snapped the crop against his thigh, glaring at Sam. "Who is he?"

Dean's shoulders straightened, his body going rigid beside Sam. "How the hell should we know?"

"I have it on good authority that you seemed to know him very well." The colonel jabbed the prop into Dean's chest. "I hear he came here to break you and your brother out."

Dean snorted. "He sure as hell did a shitty job of that."

The colonel smiled. "That he did."

"If he knew us, do you think he would have left us here after what you did to Dean?"

"I know he won't get another chance." Mulroney looked at Dean. "If he shows his face here again it will be the last thing he does."

Dean's jaw flexed, his eyes flashing dangerously at the sergeant's confident smirk. "What are you going to do, Mulroney? Throw up on him?"

The colonel put out a restraining hand to keep the sergeant from going after Dean. "My orders are for him to be shot on sight and dropped in the desert for the scorpions and vultures to devour."

Dean shrugged. "Sounds like bad business to me, but what the hell do I care."

"Maybe you'll feel differently after some time in solitary." The colonel nodded to Mulroney. "Escort Cadet Winchester to the courtyard."

"No!" Sam moved in front of his brother. The thought of what Mulroney might do further knotting his gut. "He didn't do anything but tell you the truth. We didn't know that man." He glared over at Edward Jonas. "Maybe the person who lied to you about us had a reason to do so. People don't like change, especially if their position in rank is threatened."

The colonel continued as if Sam was speaking gibberish. He pointed to the barred window, his hawk eyes never leaving Sam's face. "Have you noticed our special accommodations out there, Cadet Winchester? Solid iron box, one tiny slat for air. On a day like this we call it the oven. You're obviously a very smart, boy. Is keeping up this façade really worth your brother's life? I daresay in his condition he won't last very long under such stress."

Sam looked from Mulroney back to the colonel, feeling Dean's touch on this back. He knew the rules. Never break, never talk. Giving the enemy what they wanted only resulted in a certain, swift death. Sam shook his head. "Nothing is worth more to me than my brother's life." He blinked, feeling his eyes burn. "I'll make something up if you want, but I don't know that man and neither does Dean."

The colonel continued to stare at him, Sam didn't blink, standing firm under the scrutiny. He watched the other man's countenance waver, almost sighed when the colonel whipped his head to stare up the line of recruits.

"He's lying!" Brett Jonas stepped forward out of formation cracking under the pressure. "That man Seaver knew their names. I swear he did. He said he was going to take the DOA down, like he was a cop or something."

"Brett." Edward grabbed his brother's arm, but the younger boy pulled away from him.

"No!" Brett pointed an accusing finger at Sam. "Ask him how he promised us all that we'd be taken care of-that we'd be safe if we just kept our mouths shut."

"Is that true, Jonas?" Mulroney turned an icy glare to Edward. "Did you hear the same thing?"

Edward dropped his gaze to the floor. "He seemed to recognize the Winchesters, Sir."

"And you're just now coming forth with this information?"

"Leave it," the colonel ordered Mulroney before returning his hard gaze to Sam. "It seems you and Cadet Jonas have two very different perceptions of what took place here this morning." Sam felt sucker-punched. He suspected Edward of the betrayal, not that Brett would feed them to the wolves. It explained why the younger boy had asked for permission to go back for his hat, going so far as to offer it to Dean later in the day to shield him from the beating sun.

"He's mistaken." Sam stepped forward, not expecting the sting of the crop as it smacked against his face. He instinctively brought his hand to his mouth, his lip stinging where the strap had laid it open. Sam ducked his head when the colonel brought the crop down for another blow that had Sam's head ringing. Dean slipped free from Sam's hold, lunging for the colonel with a strangled roar.

"You sonofabitch…"

Mulroney moved in front of the colonel, catching Dean by the throat. Smith stepped in to help restrain Dean. The colonel grabbed Sam by the shirt, giving him a teeth rattling shake. The old man was stronger than he looked, nearly lifting Sam's feet off the ground. "You think I'm a fool, boy? You think you're so smart? So high and mighty? Do I look stupid to you?"

Sam had sparred enough with Caleb and Dean to know not to give into the pain firing his temper into a white hot rage. He shook his head, sticking to his story. Sometimes the Winchester stubbornness was useful. "I'm not lying."

The colonel pushed him away with a disgusted grunt. "Tell me that when we pull your brother's corpse out of that box in the morning."

Sam wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, glancing to Dean who was still attempting to put up a fight. "Don't do this."

The colonel turned his back to Sam as Mulroney and Smith dragged Dean from the room. Henry stepped in, stopping Sam from following. "You will not help your hermano if you are dead."

The door shut. Sam pulled himself away from Henry's grasp, going to the window that allowed a small view of the courtyard. He watched the colonel use his key to open the iron box. Sam gripped the bars separating him from Dean, watching helplessly as Mulroney and Smith shoved his brother inside.

"He will be okay."

Henry's soft declaration brought no comfort; instead it was the deafening crack in Sam's thinning control. He whirled to face the other boys, going for Brett.

He didn't give the teen a chance to say anything before he hit him. The sound of flesh striking flesh eliciting an entirely different kind of feeling in Sam than it had the night before when Mulroney was the one dishing out undo punishment to Henry. It felt good to lash out at someone. Sam would have hit the taller boy again if his first punch hadn't put the blond teen on his ass, hand cupping his bleeding nose.

"If my brother dies, I will kill you," Sam said.

"He made a mistake. He was afraid," Edward spoke up, positioning himself between Sam and Brett. "I told you what we came from, Winchester."

"We could have helped!" Sam ran his hands through his hair. "My father will be here soon. What part of rescue didn't you understand?"

"I'm sorry!" Brett pushed to his feet, blood dripping from his face, tears swimming in his blue eyes. "I couldn't let you and your brother mess everything up. I won't go back. I can't."

Sam clenched his fists, hating he felt an unwelcome and undeserved sense of pity for the other teen. "I can't let my brother bake out there in that box." He knew help was on the way, but wasn't sure when his father would arrive. Dean couldn't stay out there all night.

Edward stepped closer to him. "Maybe we can help with that?"

"Like Brett helped us by keeping his mouth shut?" Sam looked from the older Jonas to Brett. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because you don't have any other choice." Edward inclined his head to the other recruits. "And we all understand what that's like…"

Sam licked his lips, trying to think like Dean, wondering what his father would tell him to do. Trusting outsiders was an absolute never in their family, but this was a life and death situation. Dean's life. Sam would take the risk. "What do you have in mind?"

To be continued...RCJ


	4. Chapter 4

Iron Will

Beta: Tidia

A/N: I meant to wrap this story up sooner, but the birthday girl decided that unlike the original Big Valley episode, we should see what is taking place 'in the box'. Okay, I'm not much for multiple paragraphs of introspection so, I had to improvise. It was either this or put a mouse in Dean's pocket. I hope it is what she had in mind.

As for a Conversation to the latest episode, although I was extremely excited about all the bridge pictures and model bridges in the episode, I couldn't find an angle that needed to be covered concerning the AU. But for those of you who wrote Tidia and I about the bridges and the possible ways we could work that in, thank you so much. It almost made it seem as if Caleb was in the episode, or at least trying to integrate himself in symbolically. Thanks to Tidia who looked at this about twenty times because I wasn't satisfied with it, and Tara who gave me her generous insight.

RCJ

Dean concentrated on breathing, the task becoming harder as time crept by. He dozed or passed out only to jolt awake, afraid if he slipped into unconsciousness he might not wake again. He rolled over, yelping when his raw back came in contact with the floor. "Shit."

Making it to a sitting position took extreme effort. Dean inhaled dirt, the foulness that lined the inside of his iron prison, and coughed. Each shake pulled at the tender wounds on his back and shoulder as his body struggled greedily to take in more oxygen. He dry heaved, already having purged anything left in his stomach during his first hour in the box. Dean lifted a hand to his mouth as the world spun.

"God." He was so fucking dizzy and thirsty. His mouth was as dry as the sand that clung to his boots and clothes.

A throbbing pain had taken up residence behind his eyes, effects of dehydration. Fear gave Dean enough motivation to push himself to his knees despite his shaking arms.

Straightening as much as his confinement permitted, Dean touched the slit allowing a slight breeze and a limited view of the barracks. At least the air seemed cooler. "Sam." Saying the name kept his panic at bay. There was no sign of his brother. Dean hadn't heard the troops being released to maneuvers, wondered if they were under confinement until the colonel figured out his next move.

He brought his hand up, rubbing it against his forehead. His skin felt cool, clammy. It was an odd sensation considering Dean thought his blood might be boiling inside his body. Resting his head against the opening, he tried to breath in the fresh air. He estimated how long he'd been inside the iron prison by tracking of the sun. The blistering orb was still high in the sky. He couldn't have been confined more than a few hours, yet he was already feeling like those two kids being cooked by the witch.

There was a good reason he never told Sam fairytales when they were children, not the traditional ones anyway. He'd made up his own extravagant stories before Pastor Jim introduced them to the dragons. The Grimm narratives were far too close to their real fucked-up lives to share with the one person he wanted to protect from their nightmarish reality. His thoughts went to his father and Dean closed his eyes, a nagging sense of guilt and helplessness snatching the last of his reserves. He returned to his fetal position on the floor, hoping to absorb some kind of coolness from the lower level.

_Hang on, Deuce. _

Caleb's voice had him opening his eyes with a low moan. Dean swallowed. Grit scratched his throat, leaving his mouth barren. "Damien?"

_It's me. We're coming._

"Hurry," Dean muttered.

"They'll never make it in time."

Dean lifted his head, regretted it. The new voice wasn't his best friend, the message not shared telepathically. Dean shifted his gaze, blinking rapidly in the direction the voice had come from. Blurred angles and distorted shapes slowly took human form as his fuzzy vision cleared. "Who…how did you…"

"Hallucinations are a sure sign you're moving into the later stages of heat exhaustion, probably headed for a heatstroke."

Dean's anger flared. He'd thought the same thing himself. "Who the fuck asked you?"

"Irritability and combativeness can also be indicators. Although you seemed like an antagonistic kind of guy from the get go. Am I right?"

"Do…I know you?" Dean struggled to sit up, staring at the man directly in front of him. The guy leaned against the other side of the box, cross-legged so that his knees almost bumped up against Dean's. His face was familiar. "Are you one of the recruits?" He wasn't dressed in uniform, instead sporting khaki pants plus a black sweater, which had to be a bitch in the heat.

"I'm Nick." The guy leaned forward so his clear brown eyes and freckle-covered nose were only inches from Dean. "You seriously don't remember me? Is it your high temperature, or do I look that different now that I'm not trying to eat the skin right off your bones."

Dean startled, pressing himself into the iron siding despite the pain it caused. "It can't be. You can't be…"

"Alive? Why?" Nick scooted closer. "Because you put a bullet in my brain or because your dear old dad cut my head off, staked me to my grave, and then lit it on fire?"

Dean licked his lips, pushing his fear aside. "All of the above."

"Maybe I'm a ghost." Nick crossed his arms over his chest, gave Dean a smug look. "I mean that's what you do right? Hunt ghosts and goblins?"

"You're not a ghost." Dean would have relished the cold temperature such a close proximity to a spirit would have brought.

Nick uncrossed his arms, leaning against the other wall. "My money is on the hallucination, then." He tapped his head. "Like I said. You're in bad shape."

Dean eased away from the metal now that the other man had given him some space. "How would you know?"

"I'm studying to be a doctor, or at least I was before you killed me."

Dean swallowed, wincing. "Nick Ratcliff." The hunt involving Ratcliff was last month. It was one Dean would never forget.

"In the flesh."

"Funny."

"I used to do standup on the side. I once met Jerry Seinfeld at Dangerfield's Comedy Club. Got his autograph and everything."

Dean shifted, wishing not for the first time he had room to move, find some position that didn't alienate his aching body. "How fan girlish of you."

"Like you wouldn't give your left nut to have shaken Carl Mays's famous right hand."

Dean frowned at the baseball reference. "Why are you here?" It wasn't like he should be picky. Any company was preferable to being left in solitude with his misery in the colonel's personal Betty Crocker Bakery. However, he'd worked hard to forget Ratcliff's face. He didn't relish in reconnecting with the guy.

Nick extended his hand with a bit of dramatic flair. "Maybe I came to guide you over to the other side."

Dean inched back. "I'm not dying in this freakin' shit hole." His father wouldn't let that happen. Damien either. Caleb knew he was in big trouble. They would be coming for him any time now.

Nick shrugged. "I never thought I'd be taken out by some deranged prick either, but when your number's up..."

"You were already dead, asshole."

"I wasn't talking about you blowing the back of my head off at point blank range, Winchester." Ratcliff picked up a fistful of sand, let it slide through his fingers. "I was talking about that jerk Petulengro who infected me in the first place."

"This isn't real." Dean rubbed his eyes. The pounding in his head was picking up tempo. "You're not fucking real."

"Is that what you told yourself after you whacked me? Denial one of your many coping mechanisms?"

"I didn't kill you." Dean glared at the other man. "You were already dead. You just didn't realize it yet. I put you out of your misery."

"Sounds like the speech they gave Old Yeller."

"It had to be stopped," Dean said. He was referring to the necromancer's infection. The hunt for the zombie had gotten complicated. Zane Petulengro, newly revived from his overdose by his disillusioned grandmother, infected three people before Dad laid him to rest for the last time. Nicholas Ratcliff was his unfortunate roommate and last victim.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I was just so hungry."

Dean looked up at the other man's voice, trying to work some kind of moisture into his throat. He wondered if Nick's lust for human flesh had been as powerful as Dean's current desire for water. "It was the virus. You didn't know what you were doing, but I couldn't let you hurt anyone."

"Is that what your buddy told you when you were crying in your beer after you finished me? Did he say you were a hero? "

"Shut up." The words stung. It was a hard kill, the hardest so far. Nicholas Ratcliff had been a flesh and blood human. Dean didn't exactly handle it well. Dad was worried even if he didn't say it. So much in fact he didn't ream Damien a new one for taking Dean to a bar or kick his ass when Dean got so shit-faced he couldn't walk back to the car.

"Maybe it could have gone down differently."

Dean frowned. "I don't think so…" Zombies, even those not in the final stages of the virus, were a whole lot stronger and quicker than they appeared in the movies. By the time Dean got the drop on Nick, Sammy was down. Nick was looking at him as if he were a Shoney's buffet. Dean couldn't risk the thing getting a bite of his brother. He took the shot without hesitation. "I finished the job."

Nick chuckled. "Finished me off you mean."

"You were too far gone by the time we got there. There's no cure after prolonged exposure."

"Are you sure?" Nick was leaning into Dean's space again, sucking up what little oxygen available. His brown eyes inspected Dean's face. "You're not sweating anymore."

"What?" Dean reached up, touched his brow. "Neither are you."

"Not the best Litmus here." Nick raised a brow. "I'm dead."

"Good point." Dean closed his eyes for a moment. He was so tired.

"Hot, dry skin is not a good sign. Your temperature has to be at least 103, maybe 104. Muscle cramps will be hitting anytime. Convulsions will start soon after that. Then unconsciousness…"

Dean refocused, glaring at Ratcliff. "I guess that makes you happy, you sonofabitch. You think I deserve this for killing you?"

"You were just following orders. Right? Being the hero?" Nick held his gaze.

Dean wanted to believe he had done the right thing, the only thing. Caleb assured him he had, but Dean sure as hell didn't feel like a hero.

"You were protecting your family?"

"Leave my family out of this."

"I had a family. Zane had one, too."

Dean shook his head. "Petulengro 's crazy Gypsy grandmother is the one you should be blaming. If she hadn't worked some of her black magic none of this would have happened. My family would have never been involved."

"Maybe." Nick rubbed his hands together, dust stirring in the small space. "But you can't really blame the old hag." He pulled his legs to his chest, his arms dangled over his knees. "Not you, of all people."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean she raised Zane, put every bit of herself into taking care of him, protecting him only to have it all torn away, her world crushed. He was a pill-popping jerk, but she loved him…" Nick snapped his fingers, trying to find the right word. "What do they call it?"

Dean knew the word he was searching for. "Unconditionally."

"Yahtzee!" Nick pointed a finger at him. "_You do know_ where I'm coming from. You love your little brother that way. It's why you'd rather take a beating than watch him be hurt."

"Cute."

"Couldn't help myself." Nick raised a brow. "What would Dean, Captain One Helluva Big Brother do if Sam died?"

Dean tried to take a deep breath, the cramps assaulting his arms and thighs. "Sam's not going to die-not on my watch."

"Not a lot you can do about it from in here," Nick taunted. "You've made a mess of this job. You'll be unconscious soon. Your little brother will be on his own."

"Screw you, Ratcliff." Dean looked towards the small shaft of light, his thoughts going once more to his father. He hoped to hear Damien's voice echo through his mind promising everything would be okay. Instead it was Nick's whisper in his ear.

"They'll never get here in time."

RcJ*SnsnsnsnsN*RcJ

"We'll still need the keys." Sam studied the crude diagram they had drawn in the dirt. It hadn't taken long to formulate a plan. It seemed Edward had one in mind. The hard part was waiting for the perfect moment to put it into action. "It doesn't matter if we get out of here if we can't get to Dean and the jeeps."

"Mulroney should have a set," Edward said, "Smith, too. They keep two jeeps outside the fence line."

Sam looked towards the window where Henry was standing watch. The sun was starting its descent. "If we can take them out when they bring dinner, we'll be ahead of the game."

"It will have to be quick. If one of them gets a shot off it will alert the other guards and we don't have the man power to deal with that."

Sam ran through the scenarios. They outnumbered the sergeants, but had no weapons. Some of the boys were wary of their plan and untrained. It would take them working together. "Smith needs to go down first. He's quick to the draw. He'll pull his weapon before physically engaging us."

"Mulroney is strong," Edward said. "You saw how he got the drop on your brother."

"Only because Dean lost his focus." Sam knew Dean's only real weakness was the blind spot he had where his family was concerned. "I won't take my eyes off him."

"Get real, Winchester." Edward snorted. "You think _you_ can take out Mulroney? By yourself?"

"Watch me." After what the sergeant did to Dean, Sam would have to hold back. "As soon as I distract him, you and the others will deal with Smith."

"Are you some kind of special agent or something?" Brett asked.

Sam looked at the other teen, some of his anger towards their betrayer having softened as he did what came natural to him, research and plan. "Something like that."

"But you're just a kid."

"My Dad believes a family who trains together stays together." It also helped them to survive their lifestyle. Sam didn't like sparring or maneuvers unlike his brother who seemed to thrive on it. But Sam was a pragmatist, and could utilize the skills when he needed to.

"You really believe they'll come for you tonight."

"Caleb said they would."

Brett rocked back and forth on his heels, giving away his nervousness. "Are you forgetting the colonel ordered your friend to be shot on sight? I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."

"Not a problem." Sam bit his lip, dismissing the doom and gloom thought as quickly as Brett's words conjured it. He couldn't let his emotions overwhelm him. Caleb would be fine. Dean wasn't the only one who excelled under the Tao of John Winchester. "They won't see him and if all goes to plan, we'll be able to offer them a hand."

"Next you'll be telling us your father is some Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee wannabe." Edward folded his arms over his chest, giving Sam a slight grin.

Sam's mouth twitched. Edward didn't know the half of it. "Those dudes have nothing on my dad."

"They are coming."

Henry's excited voice snapped Sam into action. He scuffed his boots in the dirt, erasing the evidence of their plot. Edward and Brett scattered, moving to their bunks where they had a deck of cards spread between them. The other recruits followed suit, assuming their typical afternoon rituals.

"You ready?" Sam caught Henry by the arm and the older teen nodded. Sam noticed he looked only slightly peaked.

"Si."

"Good." Sam nodded to Edward, and reclined on the far bunk Dean had used.

Mulroney and Smith entered, dragging the chow cart along. Mulroney called for attention. Edward played his role, ushering the troops into formation. Sam who continued to rest on the bed, arms folded casually over his chest.

"That means you too, Baby Winchester." Mulroney gestured for him to get up.

Sam stayed put. Mulroney glanced at Smith before walking past the line of recruits to stand at the foot of Sam's cot. "Now!"

Sam smirked, taking a page out of his brother's strategy book. "Make me."

Mulroney's face turned a few shades of red as he reached over to grab Sam by the shirt. Sam understood leverage was important when your opponent outweighed you by a hundred pounds. As Mulroney's hands came forward, Sam grabbed hold of the guard's wrists jerking the hulking sergeant off balance as he used the man's arms to pull himself straight. Cartilage popped as Mulroney's nose met Sam's skull. Score one for the Winchester hardheadedness.

The sergeant cursed, staggering as Sam released him. He stumbled back a few feet, both hands going to his bleeding face. "You little shit! You fucking broke my nose."

Sam swung his feet off the bed, standing in front of the swaying giant. From the corner of his eye, he saw Smith move towards them to intercede. As soon as Smith's back was turned, Edward and two of the larger recruits struck. The guard never saw what hit him.

Another movement caught Sam's attention. He refocused on his task. Without hesitation he kicked out connecting with Mulroney's gut. Sam felt the jarring reverberation along his shin. Mulroney wind milled back fumbling but unable to stay on his feet. The back of his legs connected with Henry on hands and knees behind him. Sam felt like David watching Goliath fall. Mulroney's full weight struck the hard dirt floor, head cracking against the surface like a bowling ball dropped from a six foot ledge.

"And he's out!" Henry cheered as he untangled himself from Mulroney's legs.

Sam helped him up and gave a little nudge towards the window. "Make sure no one heard anything. We should have about fifteen minutes before the other guards suspect anything."

Edward had taken Mulroney's gun and keys. He handed them to Sam. Brett and another recruit had already gagged and tied Smith, working on doing the same with Mulroney. "What now?" Edward asked.

Sam took the gun, checking the safety. He dropped the keys in his shirt pocket. "Now we head out to the spot in the fence you told me about. You got the wire cutters?"

Edward nodded. "Two at a time until we're all in position."

"What if the guards are watching the door?" Brett asked. The other teens were standing around looking unsure.

Sam kept his voice steady, despite the burst of adrenaline still coursing through him. He had to at least look confident. "Most of the colonel's men at the main gate are watching the front. The others are at the perimeter of the road. They're expecting trouble from the outside, not from within." It was the only good thing to come of Brett's informing on them. "More than likely he has the others posted inside with him for protection. As long as we keep it quiet and move fast, we'll be okay."

Edward's face was grim. "That iron box is directly in sight of the colonel's quarters. It isn't completely dark yet."

Sam tightened his grip on the weapon. It was a risk he would have to take. Mulroney and Smith would come around soon. "I'm not leaving here without my brother." He nodded to Smith's weapon that Edward had taken for himself. "We talked about this. You cover the others and let me and Henry worry about getting Dean."

"And if you don't make it out before they notice Smith and Mulroney missing?"

Sam glanced to the window and then back to Jonas. "Go on without us."

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

"This is not a good plan." Mackland shifted in the Impala's passenger seat and glanced out the window. "There are too many unaccounted for and uncontrollable variables."

"The scenario I ran with the boys' old toy soldiers didn't satisfy you?" John tapped his finger on the steering wheel, willing the sun to finally set, offering them the cloak of darkness they would need. "I thought it was pretty clear cut."

"It was rudimentary at best." Mac pulled his medical bag closer, adding extra bandages and several bags of saline. "You didn't account for the human dynamic. This isn't a highly orchestrated maneuver you've setup for the boys or Bobby decked out in paint ball gear."

John arched a brow. "I waged war with men way before I started in on the supernatural. I know what I'm doing."

Mackland snapped the bag shut. "I don't doubt that. I'm not saying that we have a choice. I'm merely giving you my opinion."

"You're good at that, especially when I haven't asked for it."

Mackland angled his body so he was facing John. "As The Scholar, I think I show great restraint."

John rubbed a hand over his beard. "As my friend, you're as about as restrained as Bobby is cultured."

Mackland feigned insult. "I haven't said one word about the fact you sent the boys into this situation without a proper contingency plan."

"No, but you sure didn't rush to object when Caleb was giving me hell." John jutted his chin beyond the windshield to where his protégé was standing alongside the deserted road with his back to them.

Mackland followed his gaze. He worried about his son, would defend the man he was becoming. "You could try to see things from his point of view for a change."

"And let my feelings get the best of me?"

Caleb had wanted to take the fort in the daylight. Mackland watched while John bullied his son into submission because his plan worked better in the cover of darkness. "I find it ironic and highly hypocritical that you condemn the very thing you encouraged, refined and honed in my son."

John shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I taught him to follow orders, to think like a soldier first."

Mackland felt his anger grow. They were trying to fix John's original mistake of sending his children into such a situation. "You gave him a mission, yet balk when he puts that before your own agenda."

"We have the same damn agenda." John gripped the steering wheel. "I'm worried about them, too. But if I give into all those feelings swirling around in my head, how the hell am I supposed to do the job?" John gestured to Caleb. "How is he supposed to takeover for me when I'm gone?"

"Perhaps you should have thought of that when you made it his number one priority to protect them." Caleb put the Winchesters before himself. It was one of the reasons Mac forced the issue of college, hoping the distance would provide some sort of balance.

"I wasn't alone in that decision, Mac. In fact, you delivered me the invitation to the party."

"I know." Mackland ran a finger over his brow. "Most days I don't regret the choice we made."

John sighed. "On days when their lives aren't in danger, when I can see them, touch them, I feel the same way."

Mackland looked at his friend. "Caleb is connected to them even when they aren't in sight, when he can't protect them. He feels like he's failing them and that is his worse fear."

"You don't think we share that fear?" John rubbed his thumb over the wedding ring on his left hand. "I'm their father. I don't have to be psychic to know they need me."

"I know." Mackland pulled the medical bag closer to his chest, looking for comfort in his abilities. "It's this feeling of helplessness I can't stand."

John snorted. "Like father, like son." He opened the door to get out of the Impala, Mackland caught his arm before he could stand. "I'm going to talk to Junior. I need to make sure his head is in the right place before we go in there. This is one variable I can control."

"I will kick your ass if I need to, Johnathan." Mackland hoped he sounded menacing.

"Don't embarrass yourself, Doc." John rolled his eyes. "Go back to running probable worst case scenarios and doing medical inventory. Leave the ground forces to me."

"Tread carefully."

"For God's sake, Mac, I'll treat him like he's my own flesh and blood."

"Why doesn't that comfort me?" Mackland released him. "Could it be because your sons are currently in the hands of a sadistic white slavery trafficker?"

"Yeah." John grunted. "There's the great self-possessed scholar I was referring to earlier."

Mac watched as John got out, the door left open for what the doctor assumed was understanding between the two fathers and Triad members.

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

"Kid?" John called out to Caleb when the younger hunter didn't react to his close proximity.

"Dean's worse." Caleb opened his eyes, staring off in the direction of the camp. John could see the exhaustion in his features, read it in the stance of his body. "And Sammy's up to something."

"I thought your dad said you needed to pull back. You're not going to be much help to me or the boys if you're out on your feet." Mackland was already upset with him, especially with trying to rein in Caleb. He wondered about the day he would hold no leverage over Caleb and his sons.

"He's having a hard time breathing, maybe even hallucinating." Caleb turned towards him, his gold eyes flashing with anger. "I don't think he can hear me anymore."

"Dean's a tough kid..."

"Don't do that. Don't tell me anything about Deuce. " Caleb brought his hand to his chest, his fingers clenched into a tight fist. "I know him."

Caleb turned away and John felt the little vein on the side of his head pulse with tension. "Look, Junior…"

Caleb shook his head, gave a short laugh. "God. I used to tell myself that I knew him better than you. It helped me explain why you did some of the shit you would do." He turned to face John again. "But we both know that's not true. You know him too damn well. I can't even use that as a justification for you anymore."

"I don't need your goddamn justifications, Junior." John kept his own voice lowered, trying hard to keep his temper under control. Now wasn't the time to be drawn into their ongoing epic battle neither he nor the kid was going to win. "I do need you to step up and do your job, though."

"I would have done my job if you'd have called me in the first place. All of this would be a moot point."

"Is that what you're really pissed about? This about your pride?"

"No!" Caleb kicked at the dirt, looking entirely too much like the sullen teenager he was when John first met him. "This is about you not trusting me to handle myself."

"Because I should trust you completely, seeing as how calm and rational you always are about everything?"

"That's not fair."

John folded his arms over his chest, set his chin. "Doesn't make it any less true."

Caleb took a deep breath and despite the fact he looked like he wanted to punch something, most likely John. He let it out slowly and took a step back. "I would never do anything to jeopardize The Brotherhood. More importantly, I'd never risk Sam and Dean."

"If I didn't believe that then I'd never have sent you into that camp on recon even after your Dad quashed the idea."

"Dad wasn't entirely wrong." Caleb twisted his silver hunter's ring around his finger, his gaze going to his boots. "After I saw the boys…I thought about shooting my way out of there, your plan be damned."

It wasn't the first time the kid had balked at orders concerning the boys. John was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last. "But you didn't."

Caleb looked at him. "I don't know if I did the right thing. If anything happens to them…"

"Sometimes the right thing is the hardest thing."

The kid rolled his eyes. "Did you share those great words of wisdom with Deuce after he killed that kid last month?" His frown deepened. "Did you even talk to him about it?"

John glanced away. He'd tried to put the zombie job out of his mind.

Caleb growled. "That bastard's still in his head. He'll hold onto it until you say it's okay."

"Words aren't the best way to deal with Dean." The bigger truth might have been that words weren't the easiest thing for John.

"Right." Caleb's gaze held no hint of pardon. "Maybe you don't know him as well as I thought you did."

John propped his hands on his hips, done with his attempt at conversation. "I know him well enough to know he's not going to let some human bastard take him out of the game, not while he's still got a job to do. You have a job to do, too, and I damn well expect you to get your shit together so it goes off without a fucking hitch. The Dean I know would expect the damn same thing. "

"That it for the great pep talk, Coach?"

John scratched his beard, glancing towards the Impala. He wondered briefly if Mac would consider a good swift right hook treading carefully. Figuring he would not, John took a deep breath of his own, and maintained his distance from his smart mouthed protégé. Caleb would be due some extra training soon. "You really want to continue this heart to heart or are you ready to go get the boys back?"

Caleb's face changed, his shoulders straightening, looking all the part of a benched player suddenly given the signal to take the ball and run with it. "Talking _is_ overrated."

John smirked. "Now if we could just convince The Scholar of that."

RCJ

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Iron Will

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thanks to those who have taken the time to review. Thanks to Tidia who worked on this over the weekend and who kept telling me I would finish it despite my waning faith…and I even made it before my friend's birthday.

RCJ

Sam thought the box seemed much further away than it had looked from the bunkhouse. Time was skewed, marred as they made their way to where Dean was being held. Light was fading in the camp, night lowering her veil. Sam wasn't lulled by the minimal cover. He felt exposed, a walking target, but the desire to get to his brother overshadowed the prickling sensation along his spine.

Keeping his eyes focused on the colonel's quarters he gripped the weapon at the ready. Henry was crouched in front of him low to the ground, nearly crawling on his knees. It was awkward for Sam to follow suit. For the first time since hitting his most recent growth spurt, he was irritated by his new height that left him feeling as if he were possessing a stranger.

"Keys." Sam tossed the ring to the other teen as they reached the iron box. Henry fumbled nervously with the padlock. Sam continued to cover the guard shack. He tracked movement in his peripheral. Edward waved another two recruits from their quarters towards the fence line.

Things had gone as planned so far. Sam tried not to think of the heat he could feel seeping through his layers of clothing as he pressed flush against the box where his brother had just spent the last five hours. There were no sounds coming from inside. Dean had yet to acknowledge their presence.

"This one-I think."

Henry's thick accent had Sam taking his eyes from his post, glancing to the key the teen was holding in his trembling hand. He gave a quick nod. "Try it," he whispered.

The tumbler's faint click echoed around them. Sam darted his eyes towards the colonel's door, heart thundering against his chest. The rational part of his brain said the noise was far too quiet to be heard at any distance. Sam closed his eyes and sent up a silent thank you when no one appeared.

He waited until Henry removed the lock from its latch before lowering his gun to help the other teen with the door. They eased it open. The stench of vomit and sweat had them reeling.

"Dios mio." Henry started back, landing on his butt in the dirt. He gagged, bringing the back of his hand to his mouth. "El esta muerto."

Sam understood Henry's Spanish well enough. His heart leapt to his throat, stealing his breath. "No. That's not possible." Sam ducked his head, wedging his upper body inside the small space. Dean was not dead. Sam would not allow that to happen.

Dean was slumped on the floor. He was unmoving except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Sam touched his brother's cheek. Dean's skin was hot and dry, his pulse rapid. Neither was a good sign. Bits and pieces of information on heat exhaustion and heat stroke filtered through Sam's mind. He needed to get them out of there where Dean could cool down. "Dean." Sam tried rousing him. "Wake up. Open your eyes, damn it."

"Sam…my?"

Sam sagged with relief, the annoying nickname not so annoying now. "Yeah."

Dean blinked, his eyes unfocussed. "I'm… hot."

Sam let out a choked laugh, resting his hand on Dean's arm. "So you're always telling me and any girl who will listen."

"We go now." Henry had recovered from his initial shock, relief evident on his face as he hovered next to Sam in the entrance of the iron cage.

Sam nodded, handing him the gun. "Take this." He shifted his hands under Dean's shoulders. "You keep an eye on the colonel's quarters."

The other teen reluctantly took the weapon, sliding back out of the way. Sam pulled his brother free from the box. Despite the care Sam attempted, Dean groaned at the jarring.

"They will hear," Henry said.

The cooler air brought Dean around. He tried to free himself from Sam's grip, his green eyes dulled with confusion. "Sam…watch out."

"It's okay." Sam clenched his jaw, shooting another look towards the colonel's quarters. He had no time to be gentle. "I've got you. We're getting you out of here."

"No." Dean struggled weakly. "Zombie…is here. You need to go…run."

Henry's fearful gaze darted from Dean to Sam then back to the guard shack. Sam could read the unspoken worry in his eyes. Dean was going to get them busted. "Shhh, Dean. We're safe. Just relax. I have this covered."

"No…no. Nick hates me…going to take you. I think he took Caleb."

"I'm not going anywhere. Caleb's fine." Sam put a hand to his brother's mouth, speaking softly next to his ear. "But I need for you to be quiet, understand. Dad said we had to be really quiet. The zombie can't find us if you don't make a sound."

Dean pulled away, shaking his head. "Dad? Where's Dad?"

Sam sighed. "He'll be here soon. I promise."

"Not in time," Dean muttered. He shoved weakly at Sam's hands. "I have to protect you."

"Not this time, big brother." Sam reached out and took the gun from Henry, switching it to his left hand as he used his right to pull Dean's arm over his shoulder. "Help me with him."

Henry took sentry on Dean's left. Sam peered around the box, noting that Edward was no longer at the door to the bunkhouse. He assumed the others had made it to the fence then Edward had followed. If the older cadet stuck to the plan, he was stationed at the back of the building waiting to pull up the rear as Sam and Henry made it to the fence with Dean.

Sam glanced at Henry, nodding. "Now." They stood as one. Dean was dead weight, having lost consciousness again. His head lolled heavily against Sam's chest. "Let's move."

They stumbled across the courtyard, making it past the colonel's quarters. Victory was in sight when the door to the bunkhouse opened with a bang. Mulroney stood framed in the fading light. The straps Brett had used to tie his hands were dangling from one wrist. His ankles were still bound together. He hopped forward, pulling the gag from his mouth as he shouted, "Break! They're making a goddamn break!"

Henry froze, his eyes like a frightened animal's framed in the glare of an oncoming truck. "Sam?"

"It's okay. Just stay calm." Sam tightened his grip on his brother, lifting the gun to point it at Mulroney.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam didn't turn at the sound of the colonel's booming voice, keeping Mulroney in his sights. "Put that weapon down, Boy."

Mulroney hopped onto the covered stoop, his face red and twisted with rage. "There's two guns trained on you, Winchester. You better do as he says."

"I just need one shot before they take me out. I'm fast enough to pull it off." Sam knew the guards on either side of the colonel had drawn their weapons, but he meant what he said. He would at least have the satisfaction of killing Mulroney for what he did to Dean.

"And your south of the border pack mule?" Mulroney sneered. "You willing to see him take a bullet for his trouble?"

Sam felt Henry's eyes on him, the weight he was shouldering became much heavier than moments before. He slowly lowered the weapon, allowing the colonel to pry it from his hand.

"Where are the rest of the cadets?" The colonel prodded Sam with the barrel of the gun. "Where is Smith?"

"The boys have taken off." Mulroney jumped to the ground, wavering unsteadily as he brought a hand to the back of his head. "Smith is out cold. You better call the other men, check the stations."

The colonel took a radio from one of the guards beside him. "Barkley? Majors? Report!" There was silence on the other end.

Sam felt hope flutter as the colonel tried again. "Bible? Anderson? Answer me, goddamnit."

"Something's wrong." Mulroney bent to untie his feet. "They should have responded."

"You're goddamn right something's wrong." The colonel threw the radio to the ground. "You let this little shit break his brother out and the whole troop escape, you idiot."

"There's something else going on." Mulroney tossed the scrap of rope aside, striding towards Sam. "And Baby Winchester is going to tell us what that is."

Gunfire erupted, bullets striking the dirt at Mulroney's feet. The sergeant cursed, but froze in his tracks as another shot pinged off the iron box.

Dean jerked in Sam's arms, rousing enough to lift his head at the commotion. Sam tightened his hold, wishing he could get them to some kind of cover. "It's okay, Dean."

Henry ducked to the ground, arms covering his head as the colonel and the other guards searched for the source of the sniper.

"All of you stay where you are!" It was Edward Jonas. Sam grimaced. That wasn't part of the plan. "Or the next one draws blood."

"You've got to be kidding me." Mulroney laughed. He looked at the colonel. "It's Jonas, Sir."

The colonel's chest puffed as he turned towards the bunkhouse, clenched fist pumping the air. "You ain't got it in you to kill anybody, Son. Why the hell do you think we've kept your sorry ass for the last two years? Now get out here before I ship that no good scrawny brother of yours to the farthest regions of the Sudan."

They waited for several long moments. Mulroney growled. "This is bullshit." He started for Sam again, but never made it. There was no eruption of gunfire this time but Mulroney hit the ground with a pained cry. The sergeant rolled in the dirt, clutching his right thigh where a dark swatch blossomed against the uniform.

"Shit!" One of the guards yelped, his hands going to the front of his shirt where a red dot danced over his heart.

The other guard glanced down where an identical blip marked him as the next possible target. "First a silencer and now fucking laser sights. We didn't sign on for this shit."

The colonel stepped closer to Sam pointing the gun he'd taken from him directly at Dean. "This is your doing. I should have put you down as soon as I suspected what you were."

"Drop your weapons and back far away from them."

Sam looked up at the sound of the new voice. It wasn't Edward. "Dad."

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

John watched the scene play out through his scope. The guard Caleb had taken out was writhing on the ground. The fact he had no weapon saved his life. The other two guards were armed, an imminent threat. They would be dealt with; ignoring Mac's strong suggestion they not kill anyone. He ordered them to put their weapons down, gesturing for Caleb to hold his position as he moved closer to the buildings.

Things had been going as planned. Between the three of them, they had easily and quietly taken out the ill-trained men posted at the front. They were working their way into camp when they heard the gunfire. It wasn't expected since as Mac had so kindly pointed out - they were dealing with humans.

John sent The Scholar to handle the recruits that were streaming out in a single file from the camp. He took comfort in the fact the teens were out of the hot zone as he edged around the building; but was surprised there was still a young man trying to hold the wardens at bay. The kid must have been the one elected to pull up the rear until his men were safe.

John's boys weren't safe. He kept his sight on the farthest guards until the men put down their weapons and stepped away from them. Caleb would cover them both, taking the shot if he needed to. That left the guy with his back to them-the one Caleb pointed out as the commander of the farce unit. He had yet to move with Sam, Dean and another boy directly in front of him.

John made it around the corner just in time to see the man's arm move. It only took one look at Sam's face to know what was happening. The son of a bitch intended to kill his sons. John drew a bead and eliminated the target before advancing into camp.

He trained his weapon on the wounded guard. "Show me your hands." He slipped a pair of cuffs from his side, tossing them to the ground. "Put these on before I put you out of your misery." John waited until the man did as he said before moving to the prone victim. He knelt, taking the gun from the old man's limp fingers, checking the bastard's pulse to be certain. "Sammy? You with me?"

Sam was standing a few feet from him, struggling to hold onto Dean. He was staring at the dead man, but managed a tight nod. The kid next to Sam backed away as John neared.

"Dios Mio. Dios Mio."

"Move to the back of the barracks, Son. There's a man there who will help you," John said. When the kid continued to stare at him unmoving, he lowered his voice and motioned towards the barracks. "Esta bien, estas seguro. Ir ahora."

"It's okay," Sam said. "It's my Dad. You're safe."

John watched the boy go before turning to the last two guards Caleb was covering from his vantage point. He put the gun he'd retrieved in his belt, gestured to them with his rifle. "You two get on the ground, face first and put your hands behind your head." When they didn't move fast enough he shouted. "Now!"

They hit the dirt and in seconds pounding feet heralded Caleb's approach. "John?"

"Secure their hands, collect their weapons and lock them and their bleeding buddy in the bunkhouse." Caleb hesitated briefly, his eyes going to the boys. John met his gaze. "Go, Junior. I got this covered."

John went to his sons. He reached out to wipe a trace of blood and gore from Sam's face. "Hey, Tiger? You in there." He moved to take some of Dean's weight, but Sam pulled back. "Hey. It's okay. You can stand down."

"Dad." Sam licked his lips, swaying slightly.

John steadied him, reaching his other hand out to rest against Dean's bruised cheek. "I know."

Sam sighed, a familiar scowl replacing the look of shock and fear. For once, John didn't mind the attitude.

"It took you long enough."

John brought his arm around Dean, shouldering the brunt of his eldest son's weight, content in the fact both his boys were breathing in arms reach. "Looks like you had matters under control."

"I almost got us killed."

"But you didn't. That's all that matters."

Sam's face went to Dean, his eyes reflecting the guilt that should have been solely John's. "Tell that to Dean."

"Talk to me about Dean, Sam. What happened?" Caleb had recounted some of the details but John wanted to keep Sam occupied.

"He locked him in that," his son pointed to the metal box. "He was hurt before that, too, Dad."

John shifted Dean, freeing Sam from the burden. Dean's head rested on his shoulder. Dean was too hot, his breath rapid. John gave the weapon he'd taken from the dead man to Sam. He remained calm for Sam, though he wanted to lift Dean up and run to the doctor. "Your brother will be fine. Go get Mac."

"Dad?" Sam took a few hesitant steps forward before turning.

John pulled Dean up higher so his chin was resting against his son's matted hair. "Mac's just past the gate." Sam was like a skittish colt. John had no one but himself to blame for this most recent trauma. He felt his stomach drop at the realization. There would be many more times to come that he would be the root of the drama in their lives. For now he could provide a minimal reassurance. "I promise we'll be waiting for you."

****

_"I'll always be waiting for you."_

Dean jerked awake, Nick's taunting voice still ringing through his mind. "No! Sammy!"

"Take it easy, Ace."

Dean blinked at the sound of his father's voice, trying to orient himself. He was lying prone on a soft surface, cold air blowing over him.

"Dad?" His mouth felt full of cotton, his voice was rough. He shifted, the IV in his hand pulling as he attempted to push himself up.

His dad rested a hand on his shoulder. "You're safe. Your brother is fine."

"Where…" Dean's battle with gravity wasn't going well. The mattress absorbed any force he managed to exert.

"We're at a motel." His father maneuvered the portable IV as he helped Dean turn over. "Sam and Caleb ran into town for more supplies. Mac is in the room next door getting some sleep. We're going to sit tight for a while until your doctor gives us the okay for you to travel."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment as the room spun; his head seemed to revolve with it. He remembered bits and pieces of their flight from the camp. He had been in the backseat of the Impala with Caleb and Sam. "Everybody okay?"

His dad's touch steadied him. "They're fine. You were the only casualty this go around."

He nodded, categorizing his myriad of aches and pains. Mac must have come with the good drugs because there was only a dull throbbing from his wounded back and shoulder as his father eased him against a stack of pillows. The only real discomfort he was feeling was the cold, an odd sensation after cooking in his own juices.

His father sat on the bed beside him. "How you doing?"

"What's with the wet shroud?" Dean shivered, looking down at the damp bed sheet covering him. He lifted his head to glare at the box fan on the night stand blowing in his direction. "And the air conditioning?"

"One of Doc Ames's backwoods medical innovations." His dad brought his hand to Dean's forehead, a thoughtful look wrinkling his brow. "We couldn't exactly waltz you into the local ER. Mac spent the entire night bringing your body temperature down."

"You sure he's not trying the hypothermia thing again? Did I hit my head?"

"No head trauma." His father frowned. "I think the burn and beating you took are bad enough. Don't you?"

"I personally could have gone without roasting in the oven." Dean's mind recalled his hallucination of Nick.

His father chuckled, but it did not reach his eyes. "You must have really pissed somebody off, kiddo."

Dean snorted. "Try everybody."

This time his father laughed more heartily. "That sounds about right."

Dean looked at his dad. "You pissed at me?" He thought of all the ways his brother could have been hurt.

"Why would I be?"

"The gig didn't go down exactly like we thought it would." Dean gripped an edge of the wet sheet. "I couldn't make contact. Sam could have been killed. If I'd figured out what they were before we made it to that camp…"

"Dude, you did everything right." His father leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. "You rolled with the punches despite our faulty intel. You kept your brother safe until we could get you out of there. As far as I'm concerned it was a successful mission."

Dean licked his lips, not quite sure what to make of the quasi praise. He must have been closer to death than he thought. "What happened at the camp?" Except for the few lucid moments in the car, Dean was drawing a blank. "I don't remember much after Sammy and Hank got me out of that shithole."

"We shut down the operation." His father's lips formed a grim line. "Mac made a call to some of his FBI cronies. Your recruit buddies will be taken care of, including your friend with the immigration issue."

"The colonel…" Dean thought of the pompous windbag with his riding crop and wished he could have whipped the colonel himself.

"Has retired to the desert."

Dean sat up straighter. "Dad?"

"I did what I had to do. Sometimes people are worse than the supernatural, and they give you no choice."

Dean knew his father did what was needed to protect and defend his family. "I understand."

"Do you?" His dad held his gaze. "Because Caleb said you're still having a hard time dealing with that whole zombie job from last month."

The image of Nick turning to look at him just as Dean pulled the trigger was so clear. The fear in the young man's eyes, then the emptiness that took its place... "Damien doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Junior and I may not agree on everything, Ace, but I have to give credit where it's due. He knows you."

Dean sighed. Caleb was there for him after the whole zombie incident. "It's just…the guy's always with me."

"Nick was sick, and he would have hurt Sammy if you hadn't done what you did. You had to protect your family." His father ruffled his hair, which was sticking flat to his head. "I should have made sure you were clear on that."

The speech was one Dean was familiar with. Shoot first, ask questions later. Most days he had no problem with it. "I know that, but it doesn't make it easier."

"You're right. It doesn't."

"Then what does?" The answer was interrupted by Caleb and Sam's noisy entrance.

"Hey! I told you he'd be awake, Runt." Dean wondered at the timing.

"You did not." Sam shoved past Caleb to make it to Dean's bedside first. "I was the one reassuring him." Sam looked at his brother with a huge grin on his face. "I'm glad you're back with us. Caleb was about to cry. He wouldn't even unload the supplies until we came and checked on you."

"Shut up." Caleb growled. "You're the one who held his hand all night, Samantha."

"You held my hand?" Dean looked at his brother, trying hard to maintain a disgusted face. "Dude."

"Caleb was here too," Sam said. "He read to you like he used to when we were kids."

"Yeah. From the Hunter's Handbook. Section 5.4 –Offensive Strategies 101." Caleb reached out and mussed Dean's hair. "Or as I like to call it, Deuce- when to keep your mouth shut so not to piss off the guy with the upper hand and a bullwhip."

Dean shoved his hand away. "Like you don't need to commit that part to memory, Damien."

Sam chuckled. "It's truly sad how Caleb's extremely low IQ requires he consistently relearn material."

His brother's insult resulted in Caleb putting him in a headlock, dragging him back towards the door. "For that, you're carrying in all the supplies while I supervise, Runt."

John squeezed Dean's wrist, jutting his chin at the door where his brother and best friend had disappeared. "That answer your earlier question, Ace?"

"Yeah." Dean might not always like what the job required, but he knew the alternative was much worse. Whatever was asked of him, whatever pieces of himself he left on the battlefield the love for his family would always give him the will to carry on.

RCJ


End file.
